Rain Dance
by DoorbellSpider
Summary: "To love means loving the unlovable. To forgive means pardoning the unpardonable. Faith means believing the unbelievable. Hope means hoping when everything seems hopeless." —Gilbert K. Chesterton. Cover art created by the amazing Ventisquear.
1. Memories and Nightmares

Varania ran. Past the guards and under the looming gates, she fled from the city like a bird caught in a storm. The gritty sands and silent trees gave way to rolling moorlands and passed in a faded blur of tears. The skies roiled in turmoil, churning the clouds black upon the wind. Thunder rumbled in the distance, as if the sky was looking down upon the wayward elf and frowning. Nightfall ushered the sun beyond the horizon, and the pastoral greens faded to sombre greys.

A ruined tower stood amidst the falling rain, half sunk in a boggy marsh pool. Lightning outlined the jagged stones in blinding white and blue and illuminated the decaying reminders of times long past. Varania stumbled through the murky waters, and clambered up broken stairs out of the rain. She put her shoulder to the weather worn door at the top, straining against the squeaking warped hinges. She stuffed loose stones in place of the lone window's missing glass pane to stop the cold wind and rain. Piling leaves into a corner, she curled up and listened to the storm beat upon the old tower and the wind whistle through the cracks. Her stomach grumbled softly, but she paid it no mind. The hunger served as a distraction from all the feelings she tried so hard to contain. Varania turned her thoughts away from the regret that everything up till now had been just one mistake after another. That her future was empty and uncertain. She had to run, but had nowhere to go. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she drifted off to sleep. Her face was still wet with tears and rain.

* * *

A dream; Varania sighed in resignation and allowed the Fade to have its way. She was sitting in the Hanged Man, the filthy pub where she had agreed to meet her brother, dear Leto. Her heart quailed and floundered in dread. She hoped he wouldn't come or that it was someone else-a case of mistaken identity. But Varania knew he would come, and hated him for it. She tensed when she felt a hand stroke her hair.

"There there, dear apprentice, it will all be over soon. Fenris will come, the two of you will have a touching, heartfelt reunion and we'll return to Minrathous together. Ah, but that is careless of me, you still think of him as Leto, don't you Varania?"

She kept her eyes fixed on the table and her hands folded and limp upon it as Danarius lightly ran his fingers through her hair.

"You know, I could see myself letting him go in a few years time..." Danarius spoke thoughtfully, curling his hands around a coppery wisp of her hair. "...When you graduate to become a full Magister, I'll give him to you, as a present. You'd like that, wouldn't you, my dear apprentice? The two of you, together again. I'll even wipe his memory, so you can start fresh and leave a good first impression on him."

His quiet laughter made something within her recoil and scream silently. Burying her abhorrence beneath a cold veneer, she was able to squash it with tense stillness, but still shivered beneath the calm.

_I hate you._ In silent fury, Varania directed her thoughts towards the magister. _I hate you I hate you, to the very depths of my soul, I'm so glad he killed you._

"Just think, you can even rename him Leto, if you should so desire," he sighed. The smile was still in his voice, soft as a spider's web. "It's so sweet, seeing how much he still means to you, even if he doesn't remember a single thing about you."

Varania's mouth twitched, but she did not lift a finger. His fingers teased her hair and freed a few loose locks to trail along the back of her neck. Just as quickly as the anger had come, it left, leaving her shivering once more in fear for the things to come. The things that she knew the magister would do. The things she knew she would do.

"Please don't hurt him." Her half-whispered words were out of her mouth before she could bite down on them.

Danarius clicked his tongue in disappointment.

"You surprise me, Varania. You of all people should know I have never done anything to Fenris without his full and knowing consent." Amusement crept into his tone. "Everything that he has done for me and all that I have done was with his compliance. I only pursue him now because he fails to honor his end of our little bargain." Danarius sighed, his hand still absently stroking Varania's hair. "It's been a long time, hasn't it? Now my little wolf has gone awry, wandering the wilds and getting into who-knows-what sort of trouble." His fingers trailed lower, to the base of her neck and he leaned down so his next words were spoken softly into her ear.

"But we'll fix that, won't we, my dear apprentice?" He flicked a stray lock over her shoulder before turning away. "I'll be taking my luncheon upstairs whilst we wait for our guest to arrive." She wanted to scream and cry, to call down all the lightning she could until the sky itself was obliterated into nothing. Until the magister was nothing. But not even in her dreams did she dare to turn on him. In him resided every last fear, every last crushed hope, every nightmare she could remember. And she knew she couldn't win. Not as she was. He had broken her too well.

Shortly afterwards, she heard the soft sound of footfalls outside the door.

* * *

_A/N: Many thanks and praises to my wonderful Beta Easternviolet, for all your words of wisdom, grammatical wizardry, and insightful commentary! _


	2. Civilization in the Wild

A frantic clawing sound came from the other side of the door. Varania sat up, her mind still whirling from the nightmare. Her eyes brought into focus the cold, damp stones of the ruined tower as the door was jerked open by a solid shove from the other side. A young elvhen woman stumbled in. Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Varania huddled in the leaves.

"Get up!" The young woman hissed, throwing her shoulder against the door to slam it shut. "Get up!"

Obediently, Varania quickly stood, and shook the leaves from her skirt as she hurried forward to help with the door. She had seen enough trouble to know the signs that heralded its coming.

"Come on, we're getting out of here before those blue-bloods get up the stairs." The woman removed the rocks from the window that Varania had blocked up earlier. With a kick, she sent the empty frame sailing to the muddy ground below.

"Come on!" Hissing again in an emphatic whisper, she motioned with agitation for Varania to jump down. The sounds of muffled yells and clanking armor came through the door, hurrying Varania out the window. She hit the ground with a splash, covering her backside with mud. She and her new companion raced over ragged hilltops through the pre-dawn mist, into a heavily forested swamp. There, they threw themselves beneath the upturned roots of a fallen tree and hid amongst the shrubbery.

"Be quiet, alright?" the woman whispered. She dug one hand into the muddy roots of a nearby bush and grabbed Varania's hand with the other. Streaks of brown and green leached onto their skin, clothes, and hair, blending them in with the rotting wood and swamp water.

"Close your eyes. The shine'll give us away."

Reflecting the early morning light, the strange woman's eyes gleamed with the green mirror shine all elvhen eyes possess.

When heavy footsteps echoed across the waters, Varania shut her eyes. She peeked, just a little, and saw the blackened Sword of Mercy upon their pursuers' plate mail. She shut them again, until all she heard was the eek-eek, eek-eek of crickets and the lonely song of a marsh bird. Peepers ribbited quietly from their muddy pools, announcing the absence of the noisy intruders.

"Coast is clear," her companion said. "Let's go."

They slipped away into the mist, fleeing to higher ground. Here the trees were older, gnarled and spread out upon the hillsides. They broke from the woods to where the land was scarred and sundered. Sharp lines carved the face of the hills and were accentuated by the golden dawn. The two women clambered up and down the silent slopes, as the sun climbed higher into the sky.

Exhausted, Varania considered asking where they were heading, but the soreness she felt in her heart lent a careless sorrow to her thoughts, rendering her indifferent to the answer. She didn't want to talk. Talking led to questions. Questions led to answers. Answers led to pain. Thankfully, the other woman was preoccupied with finding their way to whatever destination she had in mind.

Over the crest of the next hill lay a large village. Some of the houses towered in the air, resting on slender stilts, whilst others squatted like small frogs in the bulrushes, enclosed within patchwork fences. Every hut was painted in shades of diffused green or yellow, looking as if they had sprouted up from the surrounding grasses. Varania stopped, mouth agape. There shouldn't have been a village here. Kirkwall was days away from any nearby settlement. Her muddy-shrub covered friend looked back with a quirked eyebrow.

"Never been to a Gathering before, have you?" she asked, smiling.

Varania shook her head dumbly. _What's a Gathering?_ Varania wondered.

"It's alright, I remember my first Gathering—great big hullabaloo, not as big as this one—the Rhododendrons brought the whole clan out this time, even those mountain rednecks." She motioned to a cluster of houses shaped like the spherical nests of basket weaver birds. The noise drifting up from them certainly sounded like a flock of finches.

"I'm Acippa, from the Calcites." She quirked her head, wearing a devilish grin. "Who're you?"

"Varania." She felt suddenly extremely conscious of the fact that she bore only the one name, and that it said nothing of her parents or her family. But Varania had neither.

"Nice name. So, Rainy," Acippa's arm snaked around Varania's shoulders, "How about you and I go clean up, and get something warm to eat?"

Another stab of regret. _Why does everyone call me that?_ Varania thought sadly.

Varania's stomach rumbled right then, to her intense embarrassment and Acippa's laughter.

They made their way down into the village, merging seamlessly into the crowds of people. Elves and humans intermingled freely and Varania was sure she had spotted more than a few individuals of mixed ancestry. Even the air felt alive with festivity, dancing in time to a distant tune that grew steadily louder. Bass flutes gave a breathy beat, accompanied by the smooth, glissando plucking of charangos. Drums rattled out a counterpoint, and a duet of tenor voices rose above it all, singing in a language that might have been a distant cousin of Antivan. With them came images unbidden to Varania's mind: tall mountain peaks shrouded in cloud forests, dripping with endless rain and fog, narrow winding paths along sheer cliffs, entire cities carved from the sides of the mountains. The greens and blues of the distant peaks snapped into the foreground, shifting into the present with the sharp clatter of castanets and the sharp flash of fiery colors as the couples danced in time to the music that engulfed them. Women flicked their skirts, woven in bright geometrical patterns upon fields of black, with shimmering ribbons of silk. They had flowers in their hair, while the men wore feathers in their sharp, wide-brimmed hats. The vests and trousers worn by the male dancers matched their partners, interwoven with the lines and histories of a people from long ago. They swirled and stepped, and with the rising crescendo crashing down around their ears they clapped, signaling the end of the dance. The crowd cheered, roaring their approval to the musicians on stage. Varania blinked, wondering when she had stopped to watch the dance. Acippa lounged against a nearby post.

"Had enough, love?" she asked.

"What—what just happened?"

_Magic?_

"Ah, the Aymara have a way with songs. Great stuff."

"Aymara?"

_More names that I don't know. Is this normal for the Free Marches?_

"Indigenous shepherd folk from the mountains, in Antiva and Rivain. They're part of Rhodos' clan. I mentioned them earlier—the houses that looked like bird nests, remember?" Acippa waved vaguely behind them, before straightening up.

The two women continued on their way, passing small stalls selling goods along the wide pathways, until they found themselves outside of a large fenced in enclosure. Steam rose over the top of the wooden posts, bringing the clean smells of fresh laundry and soap.

One of the outdoor tubs, situated on a raised wooden platform and curtained by cloth screens, was made available for them. Acippa insisted her new friend go first.

"I need to go get us clean clothes anyway," she'd said.

The water was pleasantly hot, and the herbal paste that'd been shoved into her hand was an excellent exfoliate, if rather pungent. Varania finished scrubbing her clothes clean when a pile of garments were thrown over the screens, landing promptly atop her head. She looked through the bundle, but saw no towels. She could hear Acippa humming and splashing about in the next enclosure.

"Acippa?" she called softly.

"Hmm?" The splashing quieted.

"Do you have any towels, perchance?"

"Why do you—Oh! To dry off?"

"Yes."

"Oh, don't worry about it. There's a little grate, near the tub, see it? Just push the stone tile next to it and stand over it."

Varania stood for a moment, her mind drawing a blank as she tried to imagine how that was to help her get dry. She stood over the grate and used her foot to push the tile engraved with a swirl motif. The sudden whooshing noise of warm air rushing up around her from the grate, causing her to jump back with a squeak, landing back in the tub.

"Varania?" Acippa called out over the air vent's noisy exhalations.

"I fell in the tub."

Acippa's laughter was drowned out as she activated her own air vent.

Shortly after dressing, Varania found herself wedged at a very crowded and very noisy table, mixed in a large group of humans and elves wearing garments of black and grey, trimmed with bits of colored ribbons. She noted her own garments were the same, and trimmed in grey and white silk. Acippa piled both their plates high with steamed greens, braised meat, mashed root vegetables, gravy, hot rolls, and a sweet sauce made of berries.

Acippa chattered with her neighbors, her voice mingling with the rolling ocean of sounds. The conversations were spoken in the King's Tongue, but Varania could hear snatches of Orlesian as well. She heard a group of bearded men complaining about the prices of Imperial goods in Arcanum. Judging from their clipped tones and terse sentences, she guessed they hailed from the northern cities of Tevinter. Two old women cackled and smiled in the tell-tale trilling of natives from Rivain. And two seats down, the copious amounts of wine made what might have been a secretive conversation in Antivan between three young elves turn into a loud and merry outburst.

It had been so long since Varania had heard so much noise, so much life. It felt like a lifetime ago. A sharp ache she had long since buried rose to the surface, and she thought of the Alienage. She thought of home. Her heart cracked along the old scar lines, threatening to bleed out all the wretched feelings once more. The singing, laughter, and arguments made her head spin, and she desperately wanted to find some quiet corner where she could crawl away. However, the smell of roasted game seasoned with rosemary drew her attention to her plate, and she tucked in with gusto. Despite the mounds of food piled on the serving dishes before her, Varania found herself bent over her plate, as if to block some phantom threat. She finished quickly, so quickly that Acippa raised an eyebrow.

"You know you can have seconds if you want," she said while buttering a roll. "Brandy?"

Varania shook her head, content with the pale, sharp beer she'd been served first.

_What now? Are these people gypsies? They aren't Dalish... Could I join them perhaps? _

Varania mulled over the thought of joining them, slipping into a daydream of having a house of her own, setting up a tailor shop—she stopped the thought dead in its tracks before the memories could rouse from their light slumber.

Acippa's voice brought Varania out of her fantasy and back into the present.

"How 'bout pie then? you look—and eat—like you haven't seen food in a week."

Varania blushed and ducked her head, mumbling an unintelligible reply.

"That looked like a yes," Acippa grinned, "But I can't hear you over this awful din. You'll need to speak up, Rainy dear."

A generous portion of warm cherry pie found its way onto her plate. "You look like a cherry kind of person anyway," Acippa said with a cheery wink.

A tall stolid elf approached as the two women finished their dessert. Varania saw him from out of the corner of her eye and turned her head quickly to get a better look. But it was a man she didn't know.

_It's not him._

She felt her heart squeeze a little tighter at the thought, pulling at the jagged edges that hadn't healed in all this time.

"Acippa, you got the girl?" he asked.

"Sure did!" she said, taking a swig from her ale.

With a furrowed brow, he looked at Varania.

"Who's your friend?" He asked.

_Uh-oh._

Varania began to fidget with her mug, turning it this way and that as she waited for the scene to play out.

"Varania, I found her in the tower, just where you said she'd be."

He tensed, his mouth tightening into a agitated scowl.

"Harlen?" Acippa asked, uncertainty laced in her voice.

Harlen hissed quietly, his voice barely audible over the crowd, "This isn't her! Acippa, you fool! Can't you see she isn't one of Rhodos' clan? This girl is an outsider!"

* * *

_A/N: Woo! Chapter two! My gods, it's been so long since I wrote this—who are these people? :P Thanks to Easternviolet for betareading. :)_


	3. Search and Rescue

"Acippa, I've told you time and time again to pay attention to the details, but you never listen! Now Rhodos' youngest is undoubtedly in the hands of those Maker-forsaken Templars!"Harlen whispered. He took several deep breaths, exhaling quickly, then began pacing, running a hand over his face. "How you could mistake this woman for a child is beyond me," he muttered to himself. He stopped and turned back to them.

"Right, Acippa, get a pack together. You're going to go get her out of there. Go get Gestalt, you'll need him, tell him I need to speak to him before you go so he can make sure you rescue the right person this time. I also suggest taking Emelia and Verdan with you if you're to come back in one piece with Ellegra. Now get going."

Acippa slunk away hurriedly and Varania stumbled after her. Thrown adrift into this strange place filled with people she did not know, she clung desperately to the one person she knew, despite their tenuous acquaintance. They entered a green hut situated low upon the ground. Once inside, Acippa grabbed a rucksack and began to pack food rations, water, rope and weapons. Varania sighed quietly. It had seemed too convenient, too good to be true, especially for someone like her. It never went that way for her. Once again she was a transgressor in a place she had no business being.

_Would they show me clemency for this trespass if I helped them?_ Varania wondered. _If I had said something then that little girl wouldn't be in this situation. Then the templars would have gotten me instead._

Another pang of guilt was added to Varania's long list of regrets. _Why is it always someone else who falls in place of me? _She wondered bitterly.

"Let me help." Varania spoke quietly. Her shoulders were hunched and her back bent.

Acippa looked up from her packing briefly. "If you don't mind my being honest, you don't look like much of a fighter, Rainy." She continued to stuff a coil of rope into her pack haphazardly.

"I'm good with a sling and stones, and I can run very fast."

Acippa smirked, "Oh like when we were running from those Templars earlier?"

Varania bit her lip and looked down. She didn't want to face Harlen alone. Not now. Any delay was welcome. She felt so battered. Defeated. There was never an end to it all. She just wanted a rest, a short reprieve before being tossed back out into the storm of her life.

_And this is just another mess I've made by saying nothing. By doing nothing. I don't want this to happen. Not again. _In all of her life, Varania wondered if she had ever felt quite so wretched as she did now looking back, and looking forward.

Acippa studied her for a moment, and then turned back to the wardrobe she had been rifling through. She held out a pair of pants as well as a dark brown scarf. Varania felt a tiny bit of hope flutter up in her chest.

"Put these on and use the scarf to hide your hair, we'll go get you a sling from old Southeby, and a pack for essentials."

* * *

Five set out from the Gathering. Gestalt, a tall, grim looking human with a long braided beard took point. The young human, Verdan, just old enough to be called a man, trotted alongside Acippa, both armed with a variety of daggers, grappling hooks, and vials. Emelia and Varania trailed just behind, with arrows, stones, bow and sling.

Gestalt led them back to the tower, and from there, Emelia followed the muddy trail, cut deep into the swampy ground by heavy iron shod boots. Their rests were brief, and they continued to push on through the night even as the moon rose and set. Dawn was not far off when they spotted the templars' camp. One stood sentry and nodded off on duty. A small figure was bundled up near the fire in a mess of cloth and rope. Five tents were pitched, large enough to house four men each.

"Hoods up," Gestalt whispered hoarsely." Acippa, camouflage."

Acippa dug her fingers into the fallen leaves and dirt, first grabbing Emelia and Verdan's hands. When the two melted away into the surrounding trees, she then she took Gestalt and Varania's, and covered their skin and clothes in a mottled coloring, blending them in with the forest. It was itchier than the last time Varania had experienced this strange magic, but it was undeniably effective.

_Would they accept me as a mage? _Varania wondered. _But what use is some lightning to them when they can do things like this? _She faltered. _I don't know of what use I'd be. _Varania took a small breath, held it, and then let it go. _Nothing left to do but try._

"Acippa, Verdan, go take down the two sentries—quietly! Emelia, Rookie," he motioned to Varania. "Cover them. I'll be over to the left, behind the tents. Don't shoot me if you can help it, alright? Let's move."

The group split up to their assigned tasks quickly and silently. Acippa and Verdan struck quickly, garroting the guards from behind. The two templars went down with barely a struggle. Gestalt swooped in, grabbing the bundle and raced out with Acippa and Verdan close behind. An arrow whistled past, from the the right, and a cry went up, rousing the camp. Emelia loosed an arrow in reply, and was answered with a grunt as it struck the third sentry.

Someone shouted "Run!"

The group rushed back the way they came and regrouped in the lee of a tall, dead pine tree.

"Take the girl ,Verdan," Gestalt hissed. Once his hands were empty, he pulled out his longbow and nocked an arrow.

Verdan unwrapped the rough sack, revealing an elvhan girl no older than six, with frightened eyes and tousled hair almost as red as Varania's. She quickly wrapped her arms around Verdan's neck and buried her face in his chest, trembling.

Varania couldn't help but feel pity for the child.

_Poor girl, _she thought. A feeling of rancor ran through her. _It's always this way. Always someone else taking the worst of it. Why, Maker? Is this a blessing or a curse that I stand unhurt, when others suffer because of me? I don't know how to atone for it all. _

_What do you want from me? _

The wave of anguish nearly had Varania burst into tears as she silently voiced the question to the world. But there was no response. She shook herself and clamped down on her thoughts, stuffing it all back into a small box in her mind. Neither she nor anyone else could afford her being distracted right now.

"Shh, it's alright Ellegra, we're here now." Verdan patted the young girl on the back and continued to make soothing noises as he tossed away the ropes and sacking that had confined her.

"We're going to be running very fast to get away from the bad men, so I need you to hold on tight, okay?"

Ellegra nodded, not exposing her face from where it was buried in Verdan's chest.

"Alright people, we'll fire a volley and scatter into the trees. Let's meet up at the caves near the cliffs we passed last night. Verdan, get moving, Acippa, paint 'em and cover their trail."

Acippa shoved her hand into the debris that littered the forest floor, covering the man and the girl in a muddy brown and green coating. As Verdan departed into the undergrowth, the leaves rearranged themselves to disguise his passing.

A wind rattled through the bare branches above them. "Incoming," Emelia said as she looked up.

Several arrows came soaring down from the trees. Emelia slashed the air before her with her bow, and Varania felt a rush of air filled with the smell of the fade roll past her as the arrows scattered like leaves in a gust of wind.

Templars poured into the clearing, in various states of dress, some wearing only their quilted under armor, while others were equipped with pieces of their plate mail. The few who were fully outfitted led the charge towards the small group.

"Fire when ready!" Gestalt roared.

Time slowed to a crawl as Varania watched the world blur around her. Lightening forked the skies, rending the black into shattered mirror fragments. It reminded her of being a child, in a similar storm, long ago. Orange tongues sprang up, reaching greedily to the unfathomable heights. Reaching her hand out, in both the memory and in the forest, she wanted to touch the bright, beautiful sparks dancing violently through the night. This time, they sprang from her fingers, singing as they leaped from her hand to the dead wooden flesh of the tree, scorching and splitting it in two.

A templar smote her and the sparks were snuffed out like the last light of day, leaving the skies faded and empty. Stumbling and disoriented, she watched the tree give a loud groan as its halves fell apart. One templar had the sense to jump back, but the others were not so fortunate. The trunk came crashing down upon three men beneath the separate halves. One was screaming with his legs pinned under a heavy branch, while the others were quiet and limp, trapped beneath the burning wood.

The flames crackled and lightning jumped up from the one tree to another. Suddenly, a whole line of trees were alight with angry veins of purple and red. Wood warped and squealed and then exploded into a shower of sparks, fire and charcoal. _Did I do that? _Varania thought muzzily.

Gestalt wasted no time in hustling his party away, and with barely a rustle, disappeared into the trees.

Some time later, the party made their way into a narrow ravine that fed into a spacious cave system. They stopped in a secluded cavern off the main fork, as the splashes of their footsteps echoed across the shallow green waters.

"You there Verdan?" Gestalt's voice echoed down the dim shafts.

"Here!" Verdan waved from above them, sitting behind a screen of stalactites.

The group huddled up on the ledge, breaking out baked ration bars of nuts, oats and dried fruit. Varania sat on the edge, dangling her legs over the precipice, and brooded.

"You okay over here?" Acippa sat beside her.

Varania smiled, with a trace of bitterness shadowing her face.

"As well as can be expected. I..." She trailed off and shook her head.

_I want all the secrets to end. I want to come clean. I'm so tired of keeping it all in. Tired of the fear that I'll be hated. There's no one left to hate me. They're all gone. These people will probably leave too. Everyone does, eventually. It'll hurt less if there's no time to get attached._

Acippa offered one of the ration bars, and said "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

_But I want to._

"It doesn't matter," Varania said as she accepted the ration, "It's all over now."

Acippa tilted her head in inquiry.

"I tried to help destroy the Tevinter Imperium." Varania gave a sad little smile.

_More like_ _chipping at a mountain with only a rock in hand, or an army of ants trying to fight a bear._

Acippa gave a low whistle of appreciation.

Varania shook her head in denial of Acippa's admiration. "My part was only a small role, it wasn't anywhere near as dangerous as the parts played by the brave men and women who guided the runaway slaves to freedom. All the same, it was because of my involvement and sheer bad luck that the magisters found out about that branch of the freedom network. I can only hope the magisters didn't find other groups because of me."

"What happened?"

"It's a long story."

_In which the hero who led the charge lies dead at my feet because of my involvement, _Varania's shoulders slumped a little further, _he'd still be alive if I'd just died while fighting for magister Ahriman._ _When did my life come to be worth so much?_

"We've got time, but if it's not a tale you want to tell, I'll back off."

Varania sighed heavily. "Where to begin, though?" she asked.

_Somewhere. anywhere._

"The beginning is a good place." Acippa settled back against the wall, looking expectantly at her.

Varania sat quietly for a few minutes, thinking. The memories the lightning from earlier had brought with it came to mind. The first storm she could remember experiencing as a little girl.

_Strange how so beautiful a thing could lead to so much ugliness. But that's when it all started._

"Do you know what they do to mage slaves in the Imperium? To the commoners, that hide in the cities' wretched slums? How they break a person's spirit, slowly, one piece at a time?"

Acippa shook her head, "I was born free, out here."

Varania looked at her sadly for a moment, wishing it had been the same for herself.

_Will you hate me for telling you that these things exist in the world, Acippa? For marring this wonderful life you live?_

Varania nearly changed her mind then and there. _Who deserves to know such horror exists in this world?_

She looked back at Acippa, who sat waiting patiently, ready to listen.

_I don't want to bear this burden alone. The only other person I could tell this to is gone. I am sorry I'm not stronger, Acippa. _

_I'm so sorry, Almerric._

"It is not a happy tale, Acippa, and when I'm through, I don't know if you'll forgive me the things I've done to get here."

* * *

_A/N: And with that, we hop on the flashback train and head for the Tevinter Imperium! _

_Praise, laurels and cookies to Easternviolet, a most excellent beta and writer! In fact, speaking of Easternviolet's writings, if, gentle reader, you have not perchance found your way to her works, I would highly recommend them having read them myself—"In Her Mind's Eye", a Blight fic about the lovely Nuraya Amell and the perils of love, and the sequel of what happened afterwards, "Andraste's Key", tying the DA:O and DAII worlds together with colorful, fascinating characters and an ancient mystery._


	4. A Brand New Mage

Thunder grumbled across the horizon, as dark grey clouds swirled and broke across the sky. Varania raced through the stone hallways, with little Leto not far behind. Chilly winds gusted through the corridors and rain spattered onto the carpeted floors. Varania inhaled the cold air, reveling in the smell of rain and the tingling sensation of a brewing storm that made the atmosphere feel alive with energy. It was something she could love, that couldn't be taken away from her. A storm belonged to no one. Not even the magisters. She closed and locked the windows with a faint sense of regret, while Leto trailed behind to mop up the puddles with an armful of rags. Everyone was rushing about, battening down for the coming storm.

"Is that all of them?" Leto asked, looking at the shutters.

"I think so," Varania said, looking back the way they had come. No one payed any mind to the two elvhen children at the end of the hall. "Come on," she said, grabbing his hand. "Let's go to the roof."

The door to the roof was old and rough. After Varania pulled the door open, her hands came away with several splinters. But that didn't matter to her. The wind blew in, bringing with it the cold rain.

_If only every day could be this way, _Varania felt as if her chest would burst with delight as the cold breeze swirled around her.

"Varania?" Leto asked uncertainly.

Varania grinned and ran out into the midst of the storm.

"Come on Leto!"

Spinning and splashing about in the deep puddles, she was drenched to the skin within seconds, laughing all the while. Leto came out and shutting the door, and eventually jumped into one of the puddles. Crests of white and purple lightning chased the peals of thunder that rolled through the clouds like swelling ocean waves. On a whim, Varania threw her hands skyward and danced upon the sky's reflection below her feet. A thin arm reached down from the clouds, sparking and breaking into slender branches of burning white and leaped about her fingertips. Varania sensed a feeling of joy as it danced about her like an exuberant hound, eager to be unleashed. Startled, she jumped and it was gone. Leto tugged at her sleeve, and they slipped back inside.

"I thought we were done for when that lightning strike came down," Leto said, rubbing a towel over his hair, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Varania said breathlessly, twisting her skirt over the pile of damp towels on the floor.

_It was wonderful. It was beautiful. It was strange. But so familiar... _Varania thought, feeling the tingling sensation beneath her skin. _That's what life feels like,_ she decided.

"But the lightning hit you."

"It didn't hit me, it just came to say "hello."

The two scampered back to the laundry room, dumping their armloads of wet towels into the pile by the door, and went about their evening chores.

* * *

It wasn't much later that the Seneschal found out about Varania and the lightning. How, Varania didn't know, and didn't dare to ask as she followed him down to the second basement level. She shrank back when the Seneschal stopped to knock on the Captain's door. A towering shadow answered the door.

"Yes?" A dry voice like the sound of chitin crushed beneath heavy stones emanated from the hulking figure. He was a huge man, well over six feet tall, with dark, close cropped hair and a clean-shaven face. Deep set eyes regarded the two visitors quietly, with a stillness that was deeply unsettling. The four large, jagged scars radiated from one side of his face and neck served to underline the Captain's unnerving presence.

"I need you to fire up the forge and find a vial of magebane for this slave," the Seneschal said in his soft, high-class enunciation.

_What are you going to do to me? _Varania wanted to ask, but she knew all she would receive in answer was a cuff about the head.

The Captain grimaced when he looked at the man, his teeth slightly bared like a mastiff that had encountered something despicable.

"The blacksmith not around? I hate having to service women, their screams hurt my ears."

Varania paled visibly.

"No, he's out on sick leave."

The Captain sighed. "Alright, come in."

The Seneschal waved her over and departed. He did not wish to be present for this barbaric display.

The elvhen child cringed as she stepped into the dark room. Lit only by the red glow of the banked forge fire, the tools and anvil cast eerie shadows, like someplace out of a frightful dream.

"Here." The Captain proffered a small vial full of a glimmering pink liquid. "Don't want you burning down the house around our ears after this bit."

Varania nearly gagged as she swallowed the magebane, it left a clammy sensation in its wake that settled just beneath her skin, like the chill of a damp fog.

_Am I going to die? _

_I feel ill. I can't feel the tingling anymore..._

After, she was ordered to sit on the floor, where her feet were locked in the stocks next to the fire. He got a salve and showed it to her.

"Elfroot balm," he said, "for afterwards. It'll help speed the healing."

She was trembling visibly by the time the Captain had stoked the fire to his satisfaction.

_What did I do wrong? _Varania cowered inwardly. A sudden idea came upon her.

_Is he going to make me tranquil? _

Fear lanced through her, nearly rendering her mindless with terror.

"Here," the Captain said, handing her a rolled up piece of leather.

She took it and looked at it, mystified. Terrified.

"It's to put between your teeth, so you don't bite your tongue off, lassie."

She wedged it between her front teeth, and took a quick breath to try and steel her nerves.

—_Please no please no please no please don't make me tranquil please please—_Her fear kept up a running background noise, growing louder and louder in time with her heartbeat.

Then the Captain pulled the red hot brand out of the fire and turned to her.

"I'd appreciate it if you could try not to scream."

* * *

_A/N: Thanks to Easternviolet for her splendid beta-ing and for her willingness to follow Varania and me through the darker parts of this elf's past!_

_Edited: I think I'll up the rating from a "T" to an "M", just to be safe._


	5. The Iron Circle

"They branded you?" Acippa asked in horror.

Varania slid her leg up onto her knee, showing the circular mark on the arch of her foot.

Acippa regarded the scar silently for a moment before asking, "Why would they do something like that?"

The other woman shrugged, her eyes downcast. "It's Tevinter. They didn't want any of the slaves thinking they could match the magisters just because they had magic too."

"No mage-slave ever thought to seek out demons? Or attempt blood magic?" Acippa grimaced.

Varania shook her head. "I never met a demon in my dreams. Not a fade-demon, anyway. Nor had any of the other mage-slaves that I knew. I think demons and spirits know not to meddle in the affairs of the Imperium—the consequences are too brutal to be worth it. And that's the way the magisters like it. Demonic temptation only ever happens by their leave, it seems. It's another reason the Circle was of little use to the Imperium."

* * *

"Quiet." The templar's voice was flat with boredom.

Varania pouted, but stopped talking. She limped along in line with five other children of various ages, all of them cuffed to a long chain, with a templar attached to each end. A guard of four more knights marched around them along the cobbled roads to the massive gates at the top of the hill. There, the Circle of Minrathous opened up before them, in all its affected glory. Bronze spires stood gleaming in the sunlight like the blades of gladiators amidst the dust, sand and blood of the city's foundations. Heavy granite walls surrounded wide arched windows, and vast paved courtyards filled with gilded fountains and grim statues waited inside the Circle's polished cage of marble colonnades.

The children were led to a reception hall, where a clerk produced a sheath of paper and called over a scribe to accompany the group onward. After, the children were brought into a large room, unadorned but for the simple wooden benches and tables spread throughout the place. Varania sighed in relief at being able to sit down and get off her feet, a sentiment echoed sincerely by the other children.

The brand marks still burned faintly on the arches of their feet, a reminder of their place in the world, reinforced with each step they took. A slim human came into the room with a satchel slung over his shoulder. A simple iron collar circled his neck and he wore a sleeveless robe of undyed cotton, held up by a woven belt. There was an air of humility about him. His bare feet and shaved head gave him the look of a forlorn tree, rooted alone upon a hilltop and bent beneath the weight of the wind. Varania had never seen anyone who looked as old as this man did. The years had carved deep lines into his face, dark against the fading color from his skin. He set out several runes. The templars brought the children forward, unchaining the first girl in line.

"Hold out your hand." His voice was quiet and soft, ground down like the sand beneath the river's torrent.

The child raised her hand, and he placed it over the first rune. A soft glow emanated from it as her hand drew near. The man turned to the scribe and said, "Moderate affinity for healing magic." The second rune shone even brighter, so sharp that Varania had to look away.

"Strong affinity for entropy."

A third rune shone weakly.

"Weak affinity for spirit healing."

This testing continued down the line, until at last it was Varania's turn.

Her hand hovered over the first few runes, but they all remained dark. It was not until she came to the end of the line of runes that there was a reaction. Two runes lit up, glowing like tiny stars. They were the smaller ones denoting specific branches of the primal arts. She could feel the tingle of energy, impatient to be freed from the confines of the runes' rigid lines.

"Strong affinity for lighting and ice."

The scribe notated this down, and separated the pages into two stacks.

And so it was that the mage-children who showed an inclination to the healing arts were led away in a separate group, leaving Varania and three others behind. Trained healer mages were prized, slaves or no.

"Sit." The man motioned to the benches nearest to the front of the room. The remaining templars stood at attention in the hallway, offering only an occasional glance into the room.

"You will be taught how to contain your magic," he began, "and how to resist demonic temptation. Be warned," his voice rolled over them in a gentle monotone, "that accepting a demon's deal is not a way out of your bondage. It will merely be another form of it. Should you accept, and become an abomination, you will be contained, and you will be submitted for study at the university, or to a private lab. A magister may choose to dominate you and your demon, or you may end your days in the gladiator pits." He paused, and then continued. "I will teach you how to dissipate some of your magic, so you won't suffer backlash from lack of use. You may ask questions of me during the tutoring period, which will last for several months. Should any of you require further practice, the training period will be extended."

A little boy, younger than Varania with tousled yellow hair spoke up, "Are you a tranquil, messiere?"

"No child, I am not," the man spoke gently.

_Why do you act that way then? You still have your magic._

"Will we be learning to use our magic?" Varania asked.

The man looked at her, his eyes dark in their sorrow."No, child, you will not."

Varania felt her stomach drop. She understood now why the years weighed down upon him so heavily.

One templar spoke up, his answer voiced in a tone of practiced impartiality, "The Imperium has no use for mage slaves trained in the destructive arts. For the majority of you, your magic is too weak to be of the calibre deemed useful to the Empire. Know that the magisters come from long family lines of potent magi, and their power is incomparable to the likes of you. There is the rare occasion," he continued, "where a magister might deign to take an apprentice from amongst you, but that is a very, very rare thing. The power of the magisters is more than adequate to fend off any outside threat, and as such, yours is not needed."

A strange and sudden ache squeezed her heart. The faint tingle sparking beneath her skin, and the feeling of yearning to leap and bound across the open spaces of the world ran up against those few short words, and for the first time in her short life, Varania felt the weight of the iron collar pulling down upon her neck.

* * *

_A/N: Credits to Easternviolet for mad beta skills._


	6. Pyrrhic Victory

"But if you didn't learn to use your magic at the Circle, how did you do that lightning strike back in the templar fight?" Acippa frowned.

A surge of panic rose up. Varania shifted uncomfortably, fidgeting and twisting her fingers together in knots.

"I was taught."

"By who?"

Varania hesitated.

"I'll tell you when we get to that part."

* * *

The crowd roared. The echoes clattered down through the iron grates and stone steps to ricochet in the wide tunnel where Varania stood. The portcullis groaned as the heavy, reinforced chains that fastened it in place clanked slowly upwards. Slaves walked past the niche where Varania kept out of the way. A large group plodded past, their backs bent beneath the weight of ropes and the still warm lion carcass. The bodies of the fallen were carried out of the arena, one by one, in preparation for the next round. Those who had died a good death were carried out reverently on berths. Those that did not, that had died a coward's death, were dragged out as carrion. Varania watched each group and searched the faces of the departed for the one she knew.

_Did you rush towards your opponent like you always do, Leto?_ Fear traced delicate whorls in her thoughts, unsettling her. _Are you still there?_

Unable to get a look at the last face that had passed, she wondered if she should go to the morgues to check if he'd been brought in through a different way. She stepped out, unsure. The sand weighed down her steps as assuredly as her fear. The deep sands on the tunnel floor swallowed the blood of the dead, even as it greedily sought to bury the living who marched across its shifting surface.

The portcullis was lowered into place as the main events began. She looked back, but the steps that rose from the tunnel blocked her view of the arena, leading up to a cloudless blue sky beyond the iron bars, beyond her reach, to a place she could not go, to a place she could not see. She could not see into the arena, even as the din of battle and the crowd's cry for blood echoed back to her, just out of sight. The gladiator matches had started.

She sat down and wrapped her arms around her knees and wondered if Leto was fighting.

_Was his training enough?_ Worry shadowed her, and she turned away from the steps that led into the arena. _He didn't sleep any better than I._

The bright sunlight bothered her, with its green and red phantasms cast across her vision. Restful slumber had deserted her these past weeks and as she closed her eyes, the voices of the crowd blurred into dreams of tangible whispers.

_You could help him. You could save him,_ a voice not quite her own whispered.

Her head snapped up, but only dust drifted about her in the yellow colored air.

_No. I know what lies down that way. It would help no one._

Time crawled, only marked by the rhythmic clang of steel. At long last, the crowd cheered, long and loud. The portcullis lowered again and the slaves marched out to clear the arena of the freshly dead. Soldiers followed behind, guarding the condemned prisoners. The contracted fighters stood waiting in the wings, with their executioner blades bright and sharp in their hands. One guard saw her and sent her out.

She slipped between the wooden elevator and pulley systems to make her way back to the entrance, where she curled up, and waited, hidden from view by the haunches of a granite lion. The crowds had begun to file out; the spectacle was over and a winner had been chosen. Varania wondered if Leto had won, or if he had lost and another master had bought his contract. If he was dead...

_But who would tell a slave? What did it matter what became of one more gladiator?_

The price of their flesh had been paid. Their life and their blood had been spilled. She lingered a few moments more before she slipped into the flow of people that streamed out of the Colosseum.

_Leto..._

Varania mourned, unable to express her grief over the loss of her brother.

_Why did you go? No matter what outcome, you are lost to us._

She was back at the house long before the master, and none of the other slaves volunteered any information that she had ever been gone. She and her mother were summoned before him. Once their collars had been removed, they were told that they had been freed, and a purse of thirty silvers was bestowed to them, which they accepted humbly. Even without the iron weight around Varania's neck, the words to ask what had become of Leto stuck in her throat; she remained silent. With that, the doors of the house were shut behind them, and they found themselves standing in the street as the lamps were lit, as the sun slipped beyond the rooftops. It was an alien world to them. The streets, so bustling and full during the day, were now quiet and empty but for the cries of cicadas and lone shadowy figures skulking in the alleyways. The nightlife of the city began to stir, and unfriendly eyes already shone from the gloom of dusk.

"What now?" Varania asked.

* * *

_A/N: Round of applause for Easternviolet's tireless efforts as a beta!_


	7. Love is Watching Someone Die

"They didn't even tell you if your brother lived or died?"

Varania shook her head.

The other elvhen woman huffed and crossed her arms. "Tevinter sounds like a rotten place to live," she said.

Acippa's remark was answered with a weak smile. "It is," Varania agreed, "and the story only gets worse."

* * *

"Sorry girlie, position's filled." The squat human sat behind a rough table, chewing on a cigar that smelled like tar and rotting bog. His dark oily skin, warty complexion, and thinning hair gave the overall impression of a monstrous toad.

"Although," he said, leering at her, "I can think of another position or two you could take, if'n you wanted."

Varania's lips thinned. She shook her head vehemently and quickly walked away.

_Filthy shemlen,_she thought, sniffing in disgust.

The sun burned hotter in Qarinus, as if in a show of spite for the sweltering gold and bronze city, even in the early spring evening. She walked out of the gleaming gates that swung shut behind her. Beneath the towering stone sculptures of past archons and magisters, she stopped in the long shadows that pooled at the hem of their granite robes. It was cooler there, at the base of their pedestals and easier to breathe than in the dust-filled air. Varania looked up at the figures, and sneered in displeasure.

_Magisters. They rise so high only to make themselves the lowest of the low. They're the biggest monsters in the room._ She stepped out into the sun's fading light, wrapping herself in the gleaming amber rays.

_And someday there'll be someone stronger than them._

She stood proud, straight backed—a slight girl just out of childhood and free of chains. She stood alone. The price of her freedom swam back to her, colouring her thoughts with sorrow, as the blue shades of night stained the sky, leaving only the lights of the distant stars. She breathed in the empty air deeply, hoping to satisfy her hollow belly with the dust and water. It growled quietly, as if in resignation, knowing there'd be no food tonight, nor tomorrow either.

It was well past dark when Varania walked back into the shanty town where she and her mother squatted. Here squalor reigned supreme with its subjects coated in raiments of filth. Detritus filled the crooked alleys like a carpet thrown out to welcome all into misfortune's crowded halls. As Varania made her way through the grime and soot, she stepped over two bodies that lay side by side. Only the flies sang a dirge for those two unmourned souls. The Collectors had yet to cart away the bodies. Inches at a time, she shoved the door to her hovel open. Her mother looked up with a careworn smile.

"Welcome home Rainy dear."

Varania hugged her, wrapping her arms around the frail form so like her own, placing a quick kiss upon her cheek.

"Hello mother."

"Hmm." Mother smiled softly, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her daughter's ear.

She didn't have to ask about her efforts, as the disappointment clearly written upon Varania's face. She pulled her daughter down to a little table that had been cobbled together with a broken rope spool and plywood and set two towel covered bowls upon it. She pulled the cloth away to reveal warm porridge and a small loaf of coarse rye bread. Varania gasped, covering her mouth with her hand and looked inquisitively up at her mother.

"The Collectors were at the forum today," her mother said gently.

"Oh mother! Please tell me it was only blood they bought this time."

_Even unbound we are not free of the claims others have on us._ Varania fumed silently. _Only now we get to choose who owns what part of us, and wait for them to throw us what little coin they think we're worth. Such is freedom in Tevinter._

"We do what we must, Varania," her mother spoke without meeting her daughter's eyes.

_Do what we must in order to survive, and we must survive what we must do. This isn't freedom. It's just another form of slavery. If only we could leave. Where could we go? All roads lead to a grave for us,_ Varania thought gloomily.

"Did they use clean needles, at least?" Varania's stomach grumbled, and she inhaled deeply, shifting closer to the table.

"I think so, yes." Mother tore the loaf unevenly and pushed the larger half to Varania.

"Mother..."

"Don't 'mother' me, Rainy. You're young, you need more food than an old woman like me."

Her mother sat, prim and proper, with an air of grace, as if her back had never carried the load of lashes, orders, work and fatigue. Her hair glinted in the candlelight, reflecting copper interlaced with the ashes of age; a fading ember of the fires of youth. Pale eyes, that resembled his, looked out at Varania.

_Will I see him every time I look at her? Oh Leto... are you even alive, now? Or were you buried these long years past in some unmarked grave?_ Varania wondered if they would forget him. She wondered if she wanted to.

Using the bread to mop up the porridge, thick, rich and full of bony fish, spring greens, sweet red peppers and spices, she asked, "Do you think he's alright?"

_We never say his name anymore._

Her mother looked up. "I'm sure he is." Her smile was tinged with sadness and regret.

Varania looked down at her empty bowl, away from the bandages on her mother's arm. It was never enough, it seemed. Her stomach still ached for more and her prolonged hunger still gnawed at her insides. "Thank you," she said.

_What did they take from you that you could buy us this meal? Blood? A kidney? Part of your liver? Oh mother..._ Guilt assaulted her, at war with the lingering sensation of hunger.

"You're very welcome Rainy dear."

_Why do you sacrifice so much for me? Why won't you let me do the same for you?_ But she knew the answer.

The last time Varania had volunteered for the Collectors, they had taken over two pints of blood, leaving her barely able to crawl back. She had remained curled up on her cot for over a week, partly from blood loss, but mostly from fear. The Collectors still followed her in her dreams, like skeletal crows dressed in black tattered flesh, circling the gallows. She had woken in a cold sweat more than once, gasping for air.

Mother had been horrified and demanded that she never do that again.

_Yet she still goes,_ Varania thought.

She had wondered if the Collectors had ever considered draining the volunteers dry. But they only ever took what was agreed upon. they could wait for the dying to exhale their last breath. No one else wanted the dead.

_I'll make it up to you. Things will get better. I'll find a job, and we can move out of this forsaken shack. I promise you this, mother._

Mother smiled, leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

* * *

Over the next two weeks, Varania would return home, frustrated with her fruitless searches for work. Occasionally she'd return with a pittance made from transitory work or begging, but she always found a small meal waiting for her at the table. She was grateful—and afraid. Her mother ate less and less, as time wore on, giving more and more of her portion to Varania, until one day all she would take was a little water. She looked thinner, paler, and was always rubbing her hands, as if she was cold.

One night, Varania took her mother's hands between her own and tenderly rubbed the joints swollen from arthritis, as if her touch alone could chase away the ailments.

"Varania," she said.

"Yes?"

"Stay home tomorrow, please."

"Mother?" Varania's voice sounded small, like a child's, even to her own ears.

"It's alright Rainy dear. We've enough silver to spare for a while yet."

Varania looked at her mother, feeling her own body go cold and tense.

"It wasn't blood the Collectors bought this time, was it." She had meant it as a question but it came out a soft statement, like the fall of a curtain drawn across the last light of day.

Her mother bowed her head, for there was nothing else to say. Silence stretched out between them, becoming a desert in the dark of night—cold, empty, and alien.

"How long?" Varania's words dragged out as flotsam in the tide. Her mind was sluggish. She couldn't couple the thoughts together to make a coherent whole.

"Four days, maybe five."

_Five days._

Varania drew in a sudden breath, spilling forth tears as her muscles quaked in an effort to choke back the sobs.

"Why?" Her voice broke the word in two. "Why do this? The Collectors take slaves! Old slaves! You are not a—"

"Rainy dear." Her mother sounded tired, and more than anything else that was what made Varania stop.

_No. Please no._

"Any work you find could sustain one body, but not two. Not here, in the Imperium. In my old age I'm only a weight around your neck-and I'll drag you down. Who will take an old woman when so many strong young bodies are desperate for work? It's hard to compete with the ease and cost of employing slave labor. I have no special skills, and with my hands...don't make that mistake, Rainy. You have a gift, love, with needle and thread that is beyond compare, a magic you alone can do. Here." she said and pushed a small leather pouch across the table.

Varania looked at the small object in her hands. It was all that would be left of her mother in less than a week, and even that would soon be gone.

_Is this what we have been reduced to? A pouch of silver to be spent at the market stalls?_

"Can't we give it back? Undo what's been done—?" She knew what her mother had done, and the futility of her question.

_Why?_

Her mother shook her head. "I spent some of it to buy food for the last few weeks. It's all right, Rainy," She encircled her daughter in her arms and rubbed her back in small circles. "It's all right."

_No it's not. You know it's not. It never will be. Not in Tevinter._

They sat like that for an indeterminable length of time, as if they could stretch the minutes out in the stillness.

"Rainy?"

Varania didn't respond, beyond turning her head to face her mother's general direction.

"Promise me you'll get out of this place. That you'll get a better life, and live as a free woman. My dear girl," she said, lifting Varania's chin up and gently wiped away her tears. "I am so very proud of you. I love you, Varania." She kissed her forehead, in the same way she used to say good night when Varania was a little girl.

_How can I keep my promises if I keep breaking them one by one?_

Grief shuddered between her ribs, leaning against them to test their strength. Varania felt brittle beneath the weight.

_I shouldn't cry now. She has so little time left. Five days..._

She pushed her sorrow down and looked up as she asked, "Is there something you'd like to do?"

* * *

The next few days were spent enjoying the early morning sunshine and talking. They spoke of stories, old friends and local gossip. Varania made small designs out of scraps of fabric and thread, stitching them together with a fish-bone needle. Her mother smiled when Varania showed the little flowery swatches of material to her as she lay upon her cot on the floor. She was too weak to get out of bed now.

Varania hugged and kissed her each night, and whispered, "I love you."

Her mother kissed her once more upon the head, and whispered back "I love you too, Rainy dear."

That was their last conversation. The following morning, the fifth day, she did not wake up. Her chest still rose and fell, but Varania knew her eyes would not open again. As the day crept by, she continued to sit beside her mother.

Sometime in the late afternoon, there was a knock at the door. Varania pulled it open just enough to look out. On the other side, she saw a tall figure shrouded in black from head to toe, wrapped in buckles and belts and wearing a wide brimmed hat and a beaked mask shaped like the face of a carrion bird. There were rumors that the Collectors were the prisoners of demons and had been enslaved by the magisters. Some said they were constructs, made from lyrium and the limbs of the dead. Others claimed them to be abominations, bound to serve for as long as their mortal vessels would last.

"She isn't gone yet." Her voice wavered. The knuckles on her hand that held the door turned white.

The Collector slowly bowed, stepped back from the door and waited.

She shut the door and sat back down beside her mother.

Dusk crept into their shanty. Her mother had been silent for some time. Her hair was neatly combed upon the pillow and her hands folded across her chest. Varania stood up slowly, and opened the door again. The Collector was still there, standing silently.

_Her blood isn't even cool yet, you blighted bastard,_ Varania seethed.

Fear-fueled anger chaffed at the forefront of her mind. Lightning flitted restlessly beneath her skin. The feeling of magic. The feeling of life. The urge to protect what mattered most to her, even if it was only a body that remained of the woman who had been her mother. But she knew that obstructing a Collector was grounds for legal enslavement. Or worse.

Reluctantly, Varania invited the Collector inside. It stooped low beneath the sagging ceiling. Another waited outside, a holding a long bulky black bag across its arms. The first unrolled a similar bag next to her mother's still form. The packing of her body was completed with well-practiced efficiency. Before Varania could completely process the event, her mother was gone. She stood inside her shanty and watched the two retreating figures disappear into the evening gloom. When they had disappeared, she knelt upon the cold sheets and felt the constant presence of grief finally break. Her quiet sobs filled the room and the dusty, uncaring earth of Qarinus soaked up her fallen tears, as if they had never fallen.

* * *

_A/N: Cookies and hallmark cards for Easternviolet on account of her fine beta and editing work! :)_


	8. Struggling to Survive

"What happened to your mother? Her body, I mean," Acippa asked in a quiet voice.

"I don't know."

"Are those Collectors really abominations?"

A shrug was all that she got.

A heavy silence descended upon the two.

Then, "What happened next?"

* * *

"Hmm," Magister Ahriman stroked her chin with manicured fingers.

She was a gorgeous woman, with skin as pale as moonlight, with obsidian black hair, and a voluminous hourglass figure wrapped in a flattering, close-fitting gown of her favorite dark red silk. The dress shimmered in the sunlight like the lifeblood spilled from a still-warm heart, and gave a soft ruby glow to her features. Her long hair, styled in modern Tevinter fashion, was clipped in an elegant barrette, allowing the length to cascade over one shoulder in glossy waves. Garnet drop earrings and a simple matching necklace wrought in rose-gold completed her ensemble.

Before her stood the final two applicants seeking to fill the position once held by her favorite tailor. Both were thin, but not yet gaunt with the hollow-eyed look of starvation. One of the applicants, a human woman, wore an outfit that had been expertly crafted and demonstrated her eye for detail. Her delicate white shirt was adorned with Orlesian ruffles, with sage ribbons that interlaced the seams and matched the elegantly cut skirt draped across her hips. The second applicant's skill was equalled, however the elvhen woman's dress showed more imagination. The sleeveless bodice of her white linen dress was crisscrossed in layers of raw silk and accented her slender frame. Across were red spider chrysanthemums, embroidered in loop and stack stitches, that wound their way up to her hip. At the waistband she had placed a few artistically placed petals to draw the eye down through the design again. A transparent layer of gauze, decorated with abstract flowers, protected her talents against the dusty winds. Immediately, Magister Ahriman knew which candidate she wanted.

"I must congratulate the both of you. Out of the applicants who sought to be my court tailor, I am considering which of you had the potential to fit this role." Magister Ahriman stood up and rang the bell pull. A pair of matching slaves appeared, dressed in white frocks and bright red sashes. A few steps behind stood a third slave holding a polished wooden box. The pair moved the magister's table and chair to the far end of the room, and bowed when finished, awaiting their mistress's pleasure. She dismissed them with a wave of her hand and sat down gracefully. The cloth of her skirt pooled about her feet in languid ripples.

"I do not wish to have a slave fill this position. A slave will do what I command and nothing else. While that is all very well and good in the day to day affairs of my household, I require of my tailor the ability to create new patterns and outfits without having me hover over every last detail. Importantly, my tailor must keep abreast of the latest fashion trends. It is most unsatisfactory to train a slave to not behave as a slave. No, indeed," Magister Ahriman said, brushing a mote of dust from her lap, "quite unsatisfactory. I find searching for a new tailor to be a tedious task and I desire a show of commitment to prove that my new tailor-to-be will remain at my side for a long time to come."

The slave with the box stepped before Varania and the human woman. He bowed his head as he lifted the lid to reveal two polished dirks, cushioned upon a black silk pillow and embellished with silver scrolls upon the hilts and blades.

Varania blinked in shock, while the other woman simply looked grim.

"The pay is two sovereigns a week, plus room and board. The shop comes fully stocked, and there are two trained assistants already on the payroll. Needless to say, this is a rare opportunity. I want to see that my tailor wants this and will not up and quit in a fit of pique. Your first order of business is to kill the other woman. Do this, and you will be my tailor for as long as I see fit."

"Magister?" Varania's voice faltered on the last syllable as Magister Ahriman turned to her, "what if one of us were to withdraw her application?"

_This isn't worth it._

Magister Ahriman smiled. "I never said you had to fight, if you so wish. That does not change my order, however. If neither of you have the resolve to follow this simple command, I shall simply have to keep looking until I find someone who does."

The magister had not finished speaking when the woman grabbed the two dirks and swung wide. Varania jumped back as the sound of ripping fabric filled the air. She looked down to see a thin line of red oozing from the exposed flesh on her left side. The other woman lunged, with blades poised to stab.

"Wait stop!" Varania scrambled back along the wall, "Please!"

"I've a babe and a young boy at home," the woman barked, her face taut with stress, "and a drunkard of a husband who drinks away every coin he can lay his grubby little hands on." She slashed at Varania's arm and drew more blood.

"There's not a drop of milk for the baby—" She scored another hit on the elf's side. Varania cried out in pain.

"There's not a scrap of food for me or my tot—" The point of the slashing dirk came dangerously close to Varania's neck, but she managed to jump away.

"And not a copper for the landlord who'll kick us out into the street at the end of the week—" she charged at Varania and knocked the slighter woman down, and then reared up to prepare for a final blow to her sprawled opponent,

"I can't afford to wait!"

She swung down with all her might. Varania threw her hands up and caught the woman's arms as the dirks hovering inches from her chest. Red droplets rolled down the keen edges and dripped onto Varania's dress, staining the linen in the same shade as the embroidery she had stitched with such care.

"Please just die!" The woman shouted. With distress apparent upon her face, she put her weight behind the dirks, seeking Varania's heart like templars with a phylactery.

_No!_

The ever present tingling beneath Varania's skin intensified and a current of electricity shot through her opponent. The woman's eyes rolled as her body twitched and jerked away. The dirks fell from her nerveless hands and stabbed two shallow cuts upon Varania's sternum. The woman scrambled forward and reached for the nearest blade. Slick with blood, the hilt slipped and skittered out of reach. The woman grabbed Varania by the collar of her dress and slammed her into the floor. Her other hand scrabbled to find purchase on Varania's throat. With a shove and a kick, Varania escaped her clutches and pushed the woman back as her hand tore the outer layer of gauze from her dress. The elf scrambled for the other dirk, even as she felt her foot being pulled back. She rolled over and stabbed. The woman flinched weakly as blood gushed from the wound at the base of her neck. She struggled to get up, but slipped in the red pool where she lay unmoving.

_What have I done?_

Varania stared unblinkingly as the dark red puddle oozed from the woman's body. The uneven rivulets and splatters spread out like the corona of a setting sun. Still clutching the bloody dirk, the dripping of blood upon her skirt went unnoticed and unheeded. A slow clap brought her out of her daze.

"Well done." Magister Ahrimen beamed, showing neat rows of pearly white teeth. "I had so hoped you'd be the victor."

She glided over, and stopped just short of the pool's ragged red edge. With a flourish of one hand, the blood dripped upwards, twirling into a helix beneath the magister's open palm. The stains upon Varania's dress evaporated and the dirk in her once bloody hand was clean and polished as if it had never been used. There was an odd, metallic smell in the air, and Varania felt a burning sensation upon her skin. The cuts upon her bruised flesh mended and left a prickling sensation when the cooled blood returned to her healed wounds.

The remaining blood twirled in the air and encircled the magister and then melded into the dark red silk of her dress, deepening the gown's gleam ever so slightly. The slave stepped forward to pluck the dirk from Varania's limp grasp, and retreated to fetch its twin that lay on the floor. The pair of slaves appeared with a sheet of cloth stretched between them and laid it out upon the floor next to the dead woman and proceeded to lift the corpse onto it. After they had wrapped her up, they carried the burden out the door.

"Come, I shall have a slave show you to your new workplace." Magister Ahriman glided out, motioning for Varania to follow with a lazy swirl of her wrist. "You should mend your dress there, it would be unseemly for a tailor of mine to walk about looking like a beggar."

_What have I done?_

Varania looked blankly at her hands and at the wreck of her dress. The only red that remained was the work she herself had put into it. She let her hands fall to her sides and walked through the door after the magister.

* * *

_A/N: Economic depressions must be absolutely abysmal in Tevinter. Many thanks to Easternviolet for her splendid beta-ing!_


	9. Worn to a Raveling

Acippa's expression was one of shock.

"She made you kill that woman just to earn a job?"

"No," Varania shook her head, "I killed her, by my own choice."

"But..."

"I could've run, stunned her and gotten out of there. But I didn't. There was nowhere to go. The woman would've died anyway, of starvation or some other cause."

"What about her children?"

"If the father was practical, he'd sell them into slavery. But few people want a child slave, they take more resources to feed their growth, and they can't do as much as an adult can. They may have all perished. In a way, Ahriman was being merciful by granting us the option of a quick death."

"That's a really twisted view of mercy."

"That's how it is in Tevinter."

* * *

Quarinus' slums were crowded, so crowded that a single family living in one large bedroom was deemed a luxury. Prices were steep, even amongst those who could earn a fair living in the city. Varania could only afford to rent a tiny kitchen-turned-storage-room in a boarding house. The rest of her pay was eaten up by food, necessities, and keeping her wardrobe up to Magister Ahriman's expectations.

Just before sunset, Varania would return to the Alienage, too exhausted to give much thought to anything beyond a hasty supper and the relief of sleep. She dreamed very little; the strain of long her days rendered most nights an unmarked blur of the passage of time. The few fragments that survived into the morning were always images of white and green, splattered with red stains that grew and filled the vision. On those nights, she'd awaken tired and fretful.

She met her neighbors as well as the elder; everyone seemed quite friendly. Some of the younger men were a bit over eager to make a good first impression with her. One evening, after a relatively light day of work in the tailor shop, she stayed out as the shops began to close. The elvhen began to gather under the Vhenadahl in the middle of the square to sing and tell stories. A thought came to her as she looked at the tiny, bright flames dancing at the roots.

_Perhaps I can light a candle for mother._

She walked back to the boarding house and made her way through the narrow hall. The door to her kitchen room was slightly ajar. Pushing it open, she was puzzled but alert. It did not appear there was anyone in here at the time, which was unusual since someone somewhere was always in need of another candle, a spare blanket or plate. But there seemed to be an unspoken rule about disturbing the occupants living in the storage rooms at night, unless the need was particularly dire.

The room itself was cluttered, with narrow pathways that were regularly traversed by the boarding house's occupants winding crookedly between the haphazard stacks of crates. A cabinet on the far wall contained the house's spare dinnerware, knives and cleaning rags. A pile of rolled up rugs sat along one wall. By the door was a huge basket filled with dirty laundry. In the one empty corner of the room sat Varania's bed on a spindly, cracked frame, draped over with a too large blanket. A small chest sat at the foot of her bed, containing all of her earthly belongings. Nothing looked out of place. She noted the backdoor was still locked and the pitcher of water in front of her chest of drawers were undisturbed. Leaving the door open, she tentatively entered and lifted up the blanket to reveal two elves, frozen in surprise and fear.

The sound of loud angry voices echoed from the hall. The light from the hallway was dull, but enough for Varania to see the glint of iron around their necks. A moment passed as they watched each other. The light in their eyes was like that of the small birds that flitted above the rooftops of the city: a delicate innocence that could be snuffed out too easily.

_Fate persists in testing me._

Putting a finger to her lips to signal for silence, she dropped the blanket back in place. She emptied the water pitcher onto the floor and placed it on its side by the puddle. She then tilted the squat little chest of drawers out of the way, leaving a drawer half open. The deadbolts and latch were undone, and the back door left to swing open. When she was done, she peeked into the hallway. A few armed men stood wearing livery so heavily decorated with scrolls and filigrees, any citizen would know them as private soldiers in the employ of nobility.

With deep scowls, they questioned her landlord about missing slaves. Varania slipped out into the hall and mingled with the gathered crowd, leaving the door to her kitchen slightly open. The men pushed past the landlord and began to search the house. One called out to the rest of the company when he saw the state of Varania's room and rushed into the narrow alleyway.

Once they were gone, Varania shut the doors and mopped up the mess with a rag. Upon finishing,  
she lifted the blanket to check on her unexpected visitors. The two elves were still there, but their fear had given way to something that in Arcanum would have been called _baceolus_, foolish. In the Common tongue it would have been called hope.

"You're not going to turn us in?" asked the girl under the bed.

"No," Varania paused, "but where will you go from here?"

The two children looked at each other. They were fraternal twins, with blond hair and green eyes and dressed in stolen clothes. Slaves were prohibited from wearing civilian attire, and besides that, both still wore collars around their necks. A ghostly weight of iron tightened slightly around Varania's throat and as she went to tug at it, she only found air. Rubbing her neck to disperse the chill that had run down her spine, she startled at the sound of a harsh, rapid knock at the back door. The children froze, looking at her with wide eyes. Varania dropped the blanket back into place, and tried to neaten it up. She peeked through the window and saw one of the fancy-dressed men standing outside, tapping his foot impatiently.

Varania opened a window. "Yes?"

"It has come to our attention that the recruit who reported the footprints didn't do a full sweep of the room." He drummed his fingers on his scabbard, clearly annoyed.

"Ah, just a moment please. I need to move the furniture away from the door." Varania bowed her head deferentially.

"Bloody fire hazard, that. Someone will trip over it if they're in a hurry to leave." The man shook his head in disgust, "Stupid knife-ears."

_Stupid shem._

Varania closed the window and covered the pane with a careful flick of the curtain. She tugged at the chest of drawers, making sure to scrape it noisily along the ground in short, ineffective bursts.

"Hsssst! Come here!" She whispered.

The two elves peeked out, and at her frantic nod they scrambled out from under the bed.

"Take the laundry basket. Go to the laundry room down the hall-turn left...second door on the right. Stay there until its safe, and keep your collars hidden," Varania whispered as she continued to tug at the heavy chest of drawers.

The two elflings grabbed their loads. When the coast was clear, they scampered away, and shut the door behind them with a quiet click.

Varania finished pulling the bit of furniture aside and unlocked the door. The guard swept past her, and quickly searched over the room. Once he checked the cabinet and beneath the bed, he turned on his heel and left, his lip service to authority paid.

When he had left the alleyway, Varania rested her head against the worn wooden panel with a sigh.

_What now,_ she wondered.

* * *

_A/N: Gratitude, praise, and cookies to Easternviolet for being a fantastic beta!_


	10. Into the Blue

"I knew you were the heroic type when I first saw you, Rainy," Acippa beamed.

"Huddled in the long honored tradition of cowards upon a pile of leaves?"

Acippa sighed and rolled her eyes, "Different kinds of courage for different kinds of folks, Rainy."

Has she simply glossed over the part where I killed someone?

"What kind of hero murders a desperate woman?"

"The kind in dire straits. What else could you do but survive, Rainy?"

"You forgive me so easily."

"No point in holding it against you. It's not like any of our hands are cleaner here," Acippa waved towards the group sitting at the other side of the cavern, "Death happens. It's just a part of life."

Varania paused to mull over her companion's words.

Can life really be so simple?

Her thoughts were interrupted when Acippa started to bounce in place impatiently.

"Well go on, what happened next? Did the two elves escape?" She scooted closer to Varania in order to better hear the next part.

"It's more confusing than exciting, Acippa."

* * *

The alleyways were flooded with blue. Night had fallen hours ago and the waning gibbous moonlight painted the slanted houses and crooked roads as if with frost, the sharp edges of blackened shadows creating an alien landscape, lonely and still. Varania had the two elvhen fugitives hidden away, hunched beneath her bed and protected from sight with only a threadbare sheet of cloth. Avoiding the light of the candles at the foot of the Vendahl tree, where storytellers and musicians took turns entertaining the crowd, she headed across the square. Laughter followed her into the narrow winding alleys that led deeper into the cramped Alienage living quarters. Tall rickety buildings leaned forward, as if they wondered where the lone elf was heading. Unlike the square, the streets were deserted, with the exception of the strays and a slumbering drunk tucked behind the refuse and rain barrels. Like a ghost she flitted through the dark, skirting the orange candlelight that signaled life behind the crumbling walls, until she found the door she was looking for. A single lantern hung next to the doorway. Its warm light illuminated a sign declaring the establishment to be "The Wine Cellar." She met an old woman tending to the candle's wick who looked up as Varania approached.

"Varania," the old woman smiled and beckoned the younger elf to come closer. "Please come in. Did you come to listen to Pavlo recite the Lay of Rolan?"

"Aunt Tilda...I was out for a stroll, and thought I might visit. May I come in?"

"Of course dear," Aunt Tilda said. She was a matronly figure to all in the Alienage and often hosted many visitors at all hours, day and night. Most came seeking aid or advice as well as her locally famous jams and tarts. More than once, Varania had seen strange elves hanging about the place when she had passed by. It was business as usual for the bar-turned-inn to have customers come and go as they pleased. No one commented on such things, especially to the shemlen. Those that did, quickly found themselves unable to procure lodgings, and the demand for housing being as tenuous as it was. The affairs of the elves were strictly their own, as precious little else was.

Aunt Tilda led her to a small table in the back, near the door leading down to the cellars, apart from the regular crowd that gathered in the main room for stories and drinks. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a tray holding two bright pink drinks, garnished with a slice of lime.

"Strawberry sangria, a crowd favorite and a rare treat in these parts," Aunt Tilda said proudly. "On the house, love. Consider it thanks for the lovely lace you made for my curtains," She handed one of the drinks to Varania.

"Wow," Varania said as she admired the cheery color.

"The Zinfa winery is selling rose wine at a bargain price," Aunt Tilda said with a twinkle in her eye.

"They're all too happy to sell off what they consider junk to elves, but they don't know what you can do with some throwaway strawberries, overripe pineapples, and ginger lemonade. Been makin' a killing these two weeks from the sales. This is some of the last of it, until next year," Aunt Tilda laughed.

"Thank you." She slowly savored the sweetness of the fruit and the spiciness of the ginger.

"Did you hear about the raid earlier today?" Aunt Tilda asked.

_Convenient. I don't need to find a way to bring it up._

"Raid?"

"It's all the night crowd has been chattering about. Seems the fancied-up guards couldn't find a couple of escaped child slaves," Aunt Tilda chuckled. "I say good on them, giving those shem the slip."

"Ah, that." Varania's shoulders relaxed slightly, "Yes, I was there when they searched the boarding house, they went out through the kitchen and into the back allies."

"Did they now?" Aunt Tilda turned her attention to the crowd. "Almerric, come over here." She waved over one of the elves lounging nearby.

When he stood, Varania stared, agog. He was very tall for an elf. He smiled and winked at her when he caught her eye. Varania suddenly found her drink to be quite fascinating and her face very warm. She blamed it on the alcohol.

"Varania, this strapping young man is Almerric. Almerric, this lovely lass is Varania." There was a glint of amusement in the old woman's eyes as she introduced the two.

Varania bowed her head in greeting. "Good evening to you, serah."

"A good evening indeed to meet one so lovely as you, my dear lady." Almerric spoke with a rich Nevarran accent, rolling his r's in the same way an exotic jungle cat might purr. He moved like a cat as well, and had an easy, almost lazy grace to his steps. He bowed and took a seat at their table at Aunt Tilda's insistence.

"Varania, why don't you recount the whole story to us now?" Aunt Tilda suggested.

She faltered more than once in the retelling of the excitement, usually after looking at Almerric to find him watching her, his eyes crinkled in amusement. As she finished the tale, her eyes were glued to the checkered napkin that she toyed with throughout the telling.

"Wager they didn't wipe their feet 'afore coming in, those blighters." Aunt Tilda shook her head in disapproval. "But enough about the shems, have you heard about Renath and Sera's newborn? Healthy baby boy, got laugh lines on his face already."

_But what am I to do with two escaped elves?_

They chatted on about the latest wedding, the drop in the price of grapes and the latest argument and make up betweem Saleen and Torin, the Alienage's tanners.

"Can't seem to decide if they love each other or love to bicker more." Aunt Tilda paused as the Chantry bells tolled the hour.

"Probably both, which is why the elders put them together." Almerric stood to say, "Thank you ladies for the lovely evening, but I must be off. Places to be and people to see." He smiled at Varania, "Perhaps I'll be seeing you one of these days, Varania."

_If only._

She smiled back tentatively and nodded her head in farewell. He turned and left through the front door, disappearing into the blue night.

She turned to find Aunt Tilda smiling at her.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing, dear. So, did you know that Derrison got a pet mongoose to keep away the snakes in his larder? Little fellow took a shine to Derrison's boy Cadmius. Cadmius was so pleased! You should've seen him marching around with the little mongoose on his shoulder earlier. Told me he named him Rikki. The little thing follows him everywhere. It's adorable."

Varania covered her mouth to stifle a giggle.

"You know," said Aunt Tilda as she wiped away a water ring on the table. "Almerric's single."

_Oh, no. We're not going down that road._

Varania took a sip from her drink, carefully holding the rim of the cup to hide her face. She put it down carefully and flicked an imaginary bit of dust off her skirt.

"Is that so?" She said casually.

Aunt Tilda smiled, "Oh yes. Be careful though, he's a cheeky scamp with a fondness for trouble. Though, it's not him you've got to worry about."

Varania raised her eyebrows in a silent question.

"He's a handsome one and he knows it. More than a few hearts pine for his affections here in the Alienage, and out of it. Got quite a few repeat customers for his business on account of his charms."

"He seems like a nice man, but I have no intention of joining his crowd of admirers. Too much competition. I have too much work to do during daylight hours." Varania said dismissively.

"Ah well." Aunt Tilda's smile twitched slightly higher and continued to gossip.

When the hour grew late, Varania thanked Aunt Tilda, and departed. She came home and looked beneath the bed. The two escaped elves were gone. In their place lay two sovereigns, side by side. She picked them up, wondering.

* * *

_A/N: Muchas gracias to Easternviolet for her fabulous beta work!_


	11. Drinks and Gossip

"That's it? The children just disappeared into the night?" Acippa's shoulders slumped in disappointment.

Varania smiled sympathetically. "I don't know what became of them, or why they left the two sovereigns, if the coins were their doing at all. I can't imagine where a slave would steal that much money."

"Sooooo," Acippa smiled slyly, "This Almerric guy. You and him?"

Varania's smile faded a bit around the edges. "Not at first, no."

"You know, there's a guy back at camp named Almerric."

Varania's heart flipflopped. But the delicate tendril of hope was quickly crushed beneath the weight of reality.

"A coincidence, I think. It couldn't be him."

* * *

Varania visited the Cellar regularly over the next few days to listen in on gossip. There was no further mention of the two escaped slaves. After a while she gave up, but continued spending her evenings in the cheery tavern. Aunt Tilda was happy to have her company.

"I don't mean to seem ungrateful, but why do you keep giving me free drinks, if you don't mind my asking?" Varania queried one evening.

Aunt Tilda gave a little coughing laugh, covering her mouth with one hand as her eyes flicked towards a table of young elvhen men who suddenly paid closer attention to their on-going card game when Varania looked over at them.

"Never hurts to have a pretty girl lingering by the bar, Rainy," Aunt Tilda said with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "What lad wouldn't want to be matched up with the new girl who's easy on the eyes, well-mannered, and has a steady bit of employment?"

_Who would want a mage and a murderer? My hands are stained so red..._

Varania shrugged nonchalantly and slid her foot closer to the stool to hide the brand mark behind her leg.

Aunt Tilda looked at her knowingly and picked a wet mug from the pile of clean dishes and began to dry it.

"Strange how the loudest ones are always the rudest in public opinion," she said, wiping the interior of the cup. "Not everyone shares those opinions, though." She finished and swapped the dry mug for a wet one. "Has Elder Marieur been to see you?"

Varania grimaced slightly, and nodded.

_The Elder's persistant, I'll give her that._

Aunt Tilda laughed. "On about finding you a good husband, has she?"

Varania rolled her eyes, "I just got here," she said.

"And you don't know if you want to stay on, eh?"

"Mmm." she hummed noncommittally as she sipped her drink.

_Where's there to go for an elvhen mage?_

"Can't say that I blame you, hon. O' course Marieur wants to keep you around. It's good for the Alienage to have more employed persons circlin' hereabouts. She means well, though she can go on talking all day. But it takes one to know one," Aunt Tilda laughed, "Want me to have a word with the old busybody?"

Varania fidgeted in her seat. "Yes please," she said, drawing back slightly.

_I don't know what to do with all of this._

"Do you want me to represent you?" Aunt Tilda asked kindly.

_Represent?_

Varania kept her eyes on the floor. "I'm not really sure what that means," she admitted.

"Means the the suitors'll be floodin' this place to get a word in edgewise. Buyin' quite a few drinks, too. " Aunt Tilda inspected the cup she held and put it down with the other dry dishes. "If there's anything you want to know about life here in the Alienage, feel free to ask me, Rainy. If its the tales you want, old Tavler spins a good yarn out by the crooked crossroad, back east a ways."

_Does it show that easily? Does my collar still cast a shadow about my neck?_

"Thank you," Varania said quietly.

She sat for a while, listening to the jovial chatter in the background.

"Is there another place a tailor might find employ around here?" she asked.

Aunt Tilda looked up and pursed her lips.

"Mmm, might not be enough to support you, hon. Even if you shacked up with a family to cover rent. Few jobs pay as well as the court ones. I'll see if I can't send some freelance work your way."

"Thank you, Aunt Tilda."

Aunt Tilda waved away her thanks and offered her another drink.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks to Easternviolet for her tireless beta-ing and solid advice!_


	12. News from the Front

"Hey there, lovely." A darkly tanned elf sauntered in the door, acting as if he owned the place. He was handsome, and had a full, angular frame and a sturdiness more akin to a human. In a show of cheekiness he leaned against the counter and winked at her.

Varania ducked her head to hide her smile. She put down her measuring tape and chalk and pulled out a stack of parcels wrapped in tissue paper from one of the many drawers beneath the counter.

"Almerric." Her voice was light and her glance, playful.

"Got somethin' for me to deliver, Rania?" He asked.

"Gloves, socks, shirts and smalls—"

"Oho, I'm jealous of the lucky body who gets into your smalls."

"Oh you." Varania smacked him across the shoulder with one of the parcels as he laughed. "Must you be so immature?" She asked, even as one corner of her mouth quirked upwards.

"You know that's why you like me," Almerric said, brushing a bunch of dark braids out of his face. "Did you hear the news?"

Varania rolled her eyes and flicked some hair out of her face.  
"You know I get all the latest news from you, Merri."

"True, true. Visiting you is the perk of keeping my ears open for any interesting bits of gossip that come my way."

Varania waited a beat as he buffed his nails against the strap of his courier bag.

"Oh go on," she said.

"You remember the most recent Qunari attack on Seheron?"

"Yes."

"You know how Magister Danarius had to leave his whole entourage behind?" Almerric leaned forward to speak in low tones. "He went back to try and round them up, but returned seriously injured, with only a few house slaves. Toni overheard the guards talking about how none of the men who went with the magister came back."

_Leto?_

"What happened to them?"

Almerric raised an eyebrow. "Not the question I was expecting you to ask."

Varania looked down, kneading her hands.

"The details are sketchy, but apparently they were killed by some rebels out in the jungle. They didn't bring him back, for what it's worth."

_An elvhen bodyguard who may or may not be my brother, who may or may not be dead._

"Is he dead?"

"Who knows? The magister's got a bee in his bonnet about something though. He's the laughing stock of the whole court right now."

"Hmmm..." Varania frowned as she pushed the stack of parcels towards Almerric.

_That tells me next to nothing._

"You sound unhappy." Almerric said as he packed the parcels into his bag.

Varania sighed, "If he's alive, he's on the run. If not..." she shrugged, "I don't expect to see him again. I certainly hope not. There's nothing for him here."

_It would only cause more pain if he returned. For the both of us._

"What about you?" Almerric tilted his head wistfully. "You're family."

Varania shook her head. "He's already paid the price for my freedom once. I don't want him to pay it again."

_I can't even remember what he looks like anymore..._

"Mmm." Almerric tilted his head in tacit agreement before changing the subject. "Some more orders for you here." He produced a piece of paper seemingly out of thin air, and presented it to her with a flourish.

It was covered in small, neat drawings depicting what articles of clothing were wanted and how many, as well as what sort of embroidery was requested.

Varania frowned in puzzlement at some of the choices.

"Are you sure this is right? There are much prettier choices of stitching for abstract designs than some of these." It was not the first time she questioned the clientele's choices that Almerric delivered.

"They want exactly that, as shown, dear Varania. And as you know, the customer is always right, even if what they're doing doesn't make sense in terms of practicality." Almerric wagged one finger as if chiding a young child for being rebellious.

Varania rolled her eyes and continued scrutinizing the order.

"It almost looks like a language," she said idly as she traced the stitching with one finger.

At the edge of her vision she saw Almerric start and adjust his posture slightly.

_Uh oh._

"But the stitches don't look like any letters I've ever seen," she said with a shrug. "Maybe I'm just being silly."

Almerric gave her a thin smile. "All the same, it'd be sad if people tried to get a look at your underwear by claiming there were secret messages sewn into them."

Varania tilted her head in acknowledgement. "I imagine I'd best keep this thought to myself then, for the sake of women's modesty everywhere."

Almerric's smile broadened and he shook his head. "Careful where your mind takes you, Rainy, all actions begin with a thought, whether you know it or not."

"Is that a warning?"

"No, advice from a friend who doesn't want to see you get hurt."

"By who?"

"It's a dog-eat-dog world, Rainy. At the end of the day, what does it matter whose side they're on if you're already dead? Best you can do is stay safe, if you can." His smile turned bittersweet and bent with the weight of memories.

"Safety is relative, Almerric. Is anyone safe here in Tevinter?"

"I wouldn't think so. But we all keep scrabbling one over the other for it anyway. Strange, isn't it?"

"Is it like love?"

Almerric blinked, caught off guard. "Love?"

It was Varania's turn to give him a sad half-smile.

"Is safety one of those things you can't have unless you give it to someone else? Everyone goes around afraid of everyone else, of what they might do to each other. Even the magisters fear each other."

Almerric looked at her pensively. "You sound so naive like that."

Her shoulders drooped, and she looked away.

"But I know you're not." Almerric stretched, his movements slower, like that of an old man, weary to the bone from a life long and hard.

"Hmm, I think it could be said that safety is like love," he answered, "but I can't speak from experience. Perhaps they are also like hope. That, I can say for certain is something you can give to others, whether you know it or not."

"But hope you can keep to yourself," Varania said.

"Ah, but it changes you. It changes everything, Rainy. You wouldn't say the things you've said, you wouldn't do the things you've done, if you didn't have hope. Would you even be alive, if it weren't for hope?" Almerric placed a white lacy handkerchief upon the counter, waved his hand over it, and pulled it away to reveal two sovereigns lying side by side.

Varania stared for a moment before comprehension dawned. She looked long and hard at Almerric, with the questions she wanted to ask, which she didn't dare voice. Some things could be spoken about, others could be spoken around, and there were things that were best left unsaid.

"No," Varania said quietly.

Almerric reached over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. The motion pulled down his shirt collar that he carefully kept rolled up, and allowed her a peek at the ring of scars around his neck that he kept so carefully hidden.

"Neither would any of us, Varania."

* * *

_A/N: Thanks to Easternviolet for betaing!_


	13. Red Letter Day

"So your Almerric was the one who spirited away the two elves?"

"He wasn't my Almerric at the time. I suspect he was the one who rescued them, but such things could not be said aloud."

Acippa blew a wet raspberry. "Malarky, you two sounded like you were flirting up a storm there. Or is that another thing you can't talk out loud about, like the secret code in the stitches?"

"Both are top level secrets. If I told you, I'd have to erase your memories with my mind."

Acippa huffed in displeasure, and scowled sullenly at a nearby rock for a bit before letting the topic go.

"Did you ever find out what the stitches meant?" Acippa asked curiously.

"No, it wasn't for me to know."

"Hmph. Some secret. What's the point of having a secret in your hands if you don't know what it is?" Acippa sighed. "So what happened next?"

* * *

It was a warm spring morning, still damp from the winter rains.

"Varania! I've a letter for you!" Almerric came trotting into the tiny shop, holding a slim envelope aloft.

Varania frowned in puzzlement, but turned from the mannequin adorned with the silver threaded gown she'd been working on.

"A letter?"

"Postmarked from the Free Marches," Almerric waggled his eyebrows meaningfully.

_Oh no._

Varania's heart plummeted. "Would you read it to me please?" she asked quietly, folding her arms across her chest.

Almerric nodded, broke the seal and pulled out a neatly folded sheet of paper covered in the script of a carefully printed hand.

She stared into the distance as he read it aloud and wondered if it really was her little brother, if he had written the letter himself, or if he had dictated it to a scribe. Allowing herself a flight of fancy, she imagined him writing it—she smiled at the thought—the words sounded so unsure, but they had the same brevity he had always spoken with. She could hear him puzzle over what to write to a sister who could not read. She tried to imagine his life in the city of Kirkwall. Did he live in a house? Was he in an Alienage? Was he a sword for hire? She tried to imagine what it was like to live outside the Imperium, but could not.

Almerric paused at the end of the letter, furrowing his brow. "It's signed Fenris. I thought your brother's name was Leto?"

_Fenris?_

Varania's eyes flicked away and she sat down.

"I don't know anyone named Fenris." A sadness draped inside her chest, weighing her rib cage down as if trying to crush her from the inside out. She had hoped it was him, but it wasn't.

"But he claims he's your brother."

_A false name, perhaps?_

She shook her head. "Perhaps he meant a different Varania."

_It doesn't matter if it is him or not. This will not end well. This must end now._

"Do you want me to write a letter to him for you?"

Varania paused, and then nodded.

_And pray that he doesn't write back._

Almerric pulled out a charcoal stick and a scrap of paper to note down her words—he'd copy them later onto a more presentable document.

"Fenris," she said, the name hissing between her teeth strangely, "I believe you have mistaken me for someone else, and for that I apologize. I wish you good luck, and I hope you find your sister. Sincerely, Varania."

* * *

_A/N: Thanks to Easternviolet for betareading!_


	14. Empty Eyes

"Was it really your brother who wrote to you?"

Varania shook her head. "It might be best to say my brother died on the sands of the arena."

"So it was a case of mistaken identity?" Acippa inquired.

"Not exactly. He was my brother, once upon a time. But not anymore."

Acippa scrunched up her face into a perplexed frown.

"Was?"

"He mentioned amnesia...but I didn't meet him until a year later, after... after..."

Acippa watched with sympathy in her eyes as Varania struggled with the words.

"Do you want to stop? It's a sad tale. I can understand if you need to take a break from thinking on it." Acippa said.

"No, it wasn't all bad... there were good times too, interspersed amongst the troubles..."

* * *

Varania sat back and stretched her shoulders, the little choruses of popping and clicking were a sign that she had been working too long. She packed everything neatly away. Her movements were light and her mood was merry. The Chantry bells chimed softly in the distance, announcing the hour to be past noon. Her stomach growled a reminder that it was long past lunchtime. Varania locked the door and flipped the sign to show that the shop was closed. It was a little drawing of a shut door in red ink beneath bold letters she could not read. In the back room she opened a drawer and frowned in surprise to find it empty. She smiled slightly as she remembered the previous evening and how distracting it had been. Normally, she would have packed leftovers from dinner for the next day's lunch, but her activities the evening before had left both she and Almerric happily sore, famished and distracted. Varania giggled quietly at the thought and pulled out a small purse of coppers from a different drawer.

_Worth every minute._

Her heart nearly stopped when she opened the door. Tall figures wrapped in black robes walked calmly along the road, their beak-like masks stared ahead with indifferent, empty eye sockets. She watched the Collectors parade past, the murmur of the street's normal hustle and bustle hushed into a fearful silence beneath their slow, sombre march. Once they were gone, she stepped into the street and locked the door behind her with chilled, numb hands.

_They are not here for me._

_Not for me._

_Not me._

Down several streets was an open air bazaar, crammed into the narrow alleyways, in the same way the nobility treated their garbage. Here the air was even hotter and steamier and filled with the smells of cooking and pungent herbal remedies. No matter how hard the inhabitants tried to keep it clean, the ground was filthy and covered in spit stains and bits of trash. Loud merchants shoved their wares at anyone who ventured too close. Crates of produce with little makeshift signs were piled outside the shops and under awnings. Varania wound her way through the overcrowded street, stepping carefully around a bucket full of water and live turtles while dodging a hanging scale full of dried dates that swung perilously close to her head. She bat away particular persistent stall keeper who waved a dried shark fin in her face and was accused of attempted shoplifting when she bumped into a jewelry stand containing so many gaudy trinkets it looked like a dragon had thrown up on it. She shook her head and half shouted an apology, barely able to hear herself over the din, and continued on until at last, she found what she was looking for.

In one of the larger clearings that the regulars mockingly called courts were the vendor carts that sold food where impatient customers waited in long crooked lines. Varania squeezed in and waited for a vendor cart. Her turn came soon enough, and she watched the cart owner assemble her meal with the ease and deftness of long practice. Flat bread with barbecued pork, stewed grains, green beans and garlic, topped with a bit of sweet and spicy sauce plus two little sweet buns for desert cost her eight coppers, plus one for a cup of cooled tea. She crouched by a wall, squished in with other unconcerned workers busy devouring their meals. Once finished with the main course, she licked the sauce from her fingers and then bit into one of the little sesame buns, feeling her inner chill warm a bit at the taste of the sweet red bean paste inside. The tea was a nice counter balance and had a clean, grassy flavor with just a touch of bitterness to it. Finishing up, she dusted her hands and left her cup in the dirty dish bin and departed.

She was feeling better. Her earlier tensions had relaxed, but not gone. She turned the corner and felt her entire body convulsively twitch. A Collector stood outside her shop and stared patiently at the building across from it. City guardsmen swarmed about it, scowling visibly. Varania inhaled shallowly, trying to catch a deeper breath. She walked past, and shivered violently as the Collector slowly turned its head to watch her pass.

No eyes could be seen from behind the mask. Its unwavering stare unnerved her as she pulled out the key to her shop. Her fingers slipped, the key missed the lock, and her fumbling quickly grew more frantic as the Collector continued to look on with its unnaturally still gaze. Relieved when the door opened and she could slip through, she shut it with a loud clap. For a while, she was frozen, her eyes shut tight and her hand against the door, breathing. She returned to her work and her mind quickly and gratefully buried itself in the flow of the needle and thread weaving through the layers of fabric.

* * *

The sound of the door chime eventually made her sit straight, and she was startled by the tall figure silhouetted against the orange glow of dusk.

"Varania?" Almerric called, concern tightening his voice like a metal wire.

"Here." Her voice sounded thin to her ears, and she took a deep breath to steady herself and try again, "I'm here," she said.

_Still here. They didn't come for me. Not this time. It's not my time._

"Is everything alright? You didn't come home for dinner..."

Varania sighed and rubbed one cheek with the base of her palm. "I...I'm sorry, I forgot you were coming over to make dinner tonight."

"Forgot my famous breaded catfish fillets, served with the secret family sauce passed down from generation to generation? Oh, how could you, Varania, you know it wounds me when you forget things like that," Almerric teased her gently, gathering her into his arms and rubbing her shoulders soothingly.

_He always smells of leather, paper and sawdust. Even after a bath._

She took a deep breath and then let it go, feeling her muscles relax a little further.

_He smells like home._

"And yes, I remembered to lock the back door," He said when he saw Varania open her mouth to speak. "Honestly, Rainy, it was the one time."

"The one time was enough to let a stray cat into my kitchen, Almerric. Got mud all over my good linens too." A weak smile found its way onto Varania's face.

_You always bring a smile with you wherever you go, Almerric. I want to be like that too. Do I give you something to smile about the way you do for me?_

"And yet he's still there, the wretched creature. If I'd known that's all it took to move in with you, I'd have just done that instead of all the silly back and forth we went through."

"It wasn't so bad. I liked it."

_All that flirting was fun, if a bit frustrating at times,_ Varania thought fondly.

Almerric gave her a crooked grin, and settled against the table she had been working on, with Varania content to be wrapped warmly and securely in his arms. They stayed that way for a while, in a comfortable silence, and watched the light outside turn blue.

"Feel a little better?" Almerric asked.

"Yes."

"Want to talk about it?"

"...No. No, I don't think I do. There's nothing to say, that I haven't already told you. It was just the Collectors. You know that story already."

They lapsed once more into silence, Almerric absently stroking her shoulder with his thumb.

"I hope that cat of yours hasn't eaten the fillets," he said.

Varania laughed.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks to Easternviolet for her fantastic work as a beta!_


	15. Trapped

Varania paused her story and looked up. Acippa was smiling, enjoying the story of the small moment Varania and Almerric had shared.

"The next parts aren't pleasant, Acippa. I..." Varania faltered, and looked away.

"Hey," Acippa leaned forward to place a hand on Varania's shoulder, "I'm staying right here, until you say what you want to say. If you want to stop, that's fine too."

Varania bowed her head. "I will finish the tale. I want to. I...want someone to know. You've been so understanding. More so than I would have expected. I thank you, for that."

"Aw Rainy, we're much nicer out here in the Free Marches than in the moldy old Imperium. They're just nuts. It was good for you to get away from them before they infected you with the crazies."

Varania shivered at the turn of phrase Acippa had chosen to use, and wrapped her arms around herself.

"I'm not so sure I got away in time."

* * *

The doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of a customer. Varania looked up and then bowed her head deferentially.

"Dear Varania, it is good to see you so hard at work, and always so punctual," Magister Ahriman said as she glided towards the counter.

"It is so dreadfully hard to find good help these days, wouldn't you say so, my dear?" She said to the man standing beside her, who was perusing the shop and the displays with a casual air of indifference.

"So true, Ahriman, so true." His voice was both oily and dry, like the shed skin of a snake.

"In fact, my dear Varania, after considering your spotless performance record I recommended you to my dear colleague here." Magister Ahriman smiled as she played with an artfully arranged lock of hair, interwoven with golden threads, that draped over her shoulder.

"Magister Danarius is looking for your brother, you see, who's been a very naughty boy and run away from home. A courier was intercepted with a letter from him, and was taken into custody."

_They have Almerric._

A flood of panic rushed through her veins. Varania attempted to swallow, but her throat was dry. She tried unsuccessfully to prevent her hands from shaking.

"It's a punishable offense to aid an escaped slave—even unknowingly. Not reporting one is considered aiding and abetting through omission, but of course you'd know that, Varania dear."

_I'm next._

The elvhen woman nodded, in shock.

"It has come to my attention that you've received a letter from your brother before." Ahriman frowned mockingly, "so why didn't you report this? It'll mar your impeccable work record."

_He's not my brother! Leto is dead! He's dead!_

The old impulse to bow and take her punishment flared up.

"I...I didn't think the letter was from my brother, Magister. I thought he had mistaken me for someone else."

_Will my death be quick?_

The hope for a swift end was snuffed out as quickly as it came. Aiding slaves was seen as an attack on the Imperium and If a citizen was caught, it was an act of high treason. The public would demand blood. They liked a good show—the more screaming and bleeding, the better.

"Ah, that's right. I gave him a new name when he entered my service, but no one told you that, did they? How thoughtless of your former master." Magister Danarius wore the smile a reptile in the desert wears while watching a man die slowly of thirst. He moved forward to casually run his fingers along Varania's current project- a string of stylized symbols, like flames that danced along the cuffs of an indigo robe.

"Lovely work," he said, admiring the details. "His name is Fenris now. You did receive a letter from him previously, did you not?"

"Y...yes, Magister."

_How did they know?_ She was screaming on the inside.

"Considering the contents of this latest letter, I would appreciate your assistance in reacquiring my lost property. If you do, I will put in a good word for you in the courts. If you would prefer not to, well..." Magister Danarius shrugged with an air of indifference. "Either way, I'll have him back, but with you present to convince him, I'm sure my little wolf will come along quietly, and there will be no need to use a more...distasteful method to obtain his compliance." He sneered, as if something displeasing had come to his attention, and quickly smoothed into polite cordiality.

A common citizen didn't dare wonder what methods a magister might consider distasteful, while a slave feared and accepted the inevitability. The magisters always got what they wanted.

"So, will you help in this little venture? For Fenris's sake, as well as your own?"

Varania stared at the floor.

_A pity I wasn't run over by a cart this morning. Or mugged,_ she thought lightly. _I could have died happy. But this is Tevinter... the damnedest of the damned. It couldn't have ended like that for me. Or Leto. Or Almerric... It won't end well for me or Fenris now either, no matter what I choose._

"Yes, Magister."

Magister Danarius gave her an approving glance that left her feeling cold, even in the heat of the day.

"I'm glad to see you're cooperating. Things will go much better for you compared to that unfortunate courier we arrested earlier. You really should be more careful who you associate yourself with, Varania," Danarius said with a faint hint of reproof. "Mingling with the wrong crowd will reap you nothing but misery."

"You know," Magister Ahriman interjected slowly, her voice a wine-sweet poison. "Varania is a mage, Danarius."

_By the Black City, what will they do now? _Her fear ratcheted up another notch.

Danarius raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

"She has plenty of potential, considering her papers from the Circle tests. She would make an excellent apprentice. I never took her on simply because I have enough young bloods to train as is," She flicked her fingers dismissively.

_Oh no._

"Mmm, and I am in need of a new apprentice to take Hadriana's seat at the council. The silly girl went and got herself killed," Danarius sneered. "Never could quite get her head wrapped around the efficient use of blood magic. Too soft hearted. Even with all the training I put her through to help strengthen her resolve," he sighed. He turned to Varania.

_Oh NO._

"Now you," he said, looking her over clinically, "you might just have what it takes to be a good magister. Ahriman told me about your performance. A shaky start, but an excellent finish. Didn't even break down on the job." His tone took on a measure of admiration, as if considering a well bred horse for sale.

_NO! Please no!_ Even while her fear resisted and sought to flee from the realization Varania had come to, her slave mentality was already bending to the magister's whim in submission.

_It is inevitable,_the slave-part of her mind whispered to her.

"The first kill is always tough for the unprepared," Ahriman added gayly.

"True. And your misdemeanor could be waived if I took you on as my apprentice," Danarius added thoughtfully, "One of the many perks of being a magister, my dear. The Imperium is much more lenient on those who defend the nation's interests, and who better defends the Imperium than the magisters?"

Magister Ahriman sighed wistfully. "I'd hate to lose an excellent seamstress."

"You'll be compensated for your loss, Ahriman. I'm sure when Varania is done with her training, she can find time to design new robes for the fashion elite. And with a few slaves, I'm sure she'll have an easy time supplying you with whatever gowns your heart should desire."

"Yes, but she won't be working specifically for me," Magister Ahriman pouted.

Danarius laughed. "There's the rub, isn't it? I'm sure an arrangement can be made to satisfy all parties present. But tell me, Varania, would you like to become my apprentice? It'd solve many problems in one fell swoop, yours and mine, and perhaps even your brother's."

With her hands interlaced behind her and fingers clenched so hard the knuckles had turned white, Varania contemplated her choice.

_Become an apprentice or prepare to die a slow, horrible death. Maybe I'll die in a magic duel and save everyone the trouble of devising my gruesome death. Did they already kill Almerric, or will I have to watch him die? If he lives, will they prolong his death if I refuse? What will they do to Leto—Fenris—if I don't say yes? Or is this a trick, to give another reason to prolong my death because an elvhen slave dared to think she could be a magister?_

"I am humbled by your generosity, Magister Danarius," she said in a low voice, "I will do as your wisdom dictates."

Magister Danarius sighed. "A good answer, for a slave. We'll have to work on that. But at least you aren't grovelling as much as Hadriana had. I'm almost glad your brother killed her...she was practically an embarrassment to my name. I hope you turn out better than she did, for your sake as well as his." He tilted his head and gave a twisted little half-smile, looking like a well fed predator.

_Will he kill me in training, after I've helped him retake Leto? Is this all just for the sake of amusement for him? Or will he really train me to be a magister? I don't know which would be worse._

After so many years of suffering and hardship, of enduring slavery, poverty and destitution, the part of her that had held fast and survived, crumbled into dust.

_What the magister wishes, will be. It is inevitable._

Danarius smiled. He knew exactly what was going through her head.

_He knows. Perhaps this is what he wanted of me. Every last thing crushed into nothing, so he can make me into whatever he wants. No collar, but still a slave to the end it seems. Was I always a slave, and I simply didn't realize it? My old master was nothing in comparison to the magister. Years of training and still I hoped to be free._

Her thoughts took on a strange, quiet quality— it was knowing that becoming a slave was not her choice, and completely out of her hands.

_A handful of words from Magister Danarius and I am all but destroyed. The magisters truly are the Imperium._

"I shall expect you at my mansion once you've closed up shop," he said, "dinner is at the sixth bell. I shall see you then, my dear apprentice."

With that, he swept out of the room with Magister Ahriman, leaving the elvhen woman alone.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks to Easternviolet for excellent beta-reading work!_

_And we have now met Danarius. We'll be seeing some more of him in the next few chapters, unfortunately for Varania._


	16. Dungeons and Dragooning

_Forewarning: This chapter contains torture._

* * *

"They enslaved you? For helping slaves escape?" Acippa was aghast.

"No, I would have been enslaved if I had refused to become the magister's apprentice. Assuming they didn't decide to have me die in the crow cages, or through whatever method of death was in fashion at the time."

"How is being strong-armed into being his apprentice any better than being a slave?"

"In some ways, it isn't as bad. I didn't have to worry about dying on someone else's whim. I had rights, for what little they counted. As a magister's apprentice, I could do virtually anything and no one would object, so long as it wasn't something unpatriotic, like freeing slaves." Varania's eyes had taken on an unfocused quality, staring out at some distant point beyond the confines of the cave's walls. "In other ways, it was much worse than being a slave."

* * *

"In the future, you'll want to wear clothes that you won't mind getting dirty, Varania." Danarius spoke as he led her down into the basement levels of his estate. "Your next lesson will require a hands-on experience, so it will sink in. For now, I'll give you a small example of what you'll be learning over the next few months."

The stairway down became danker and darker, but the stones grew warmer underfoot. The floor where they stopped had solid iron bars alongside a heavy padlocked gate that separated it from the rest of the house. A small, heavily built man sat behind the gate. He arose and stood at attention at the magister's approach.

"Magister." A gravelly voice emanated from the cowl that mostly covered the man's face. After he unlocked the gate, he bowed respectfully. His butler-like manner was at odds with his studded leather and he seemed to fit better within a gladiator's arena rather than in service to a Magister.

"Gatekeeper Dennis," Magister Danarius nodded once and gestured to Varania who followed meekly behind, "this is my new apprentice. She's to be granted access to the lower levels as needed."

"Of course, Magister."

Danarius continued on, passing several doorways that opened into what appeared to be barracks filled with bunks, footlockers, armor stands and weapon racks. Men in armor identical to the gatekeeper's strode by, always standing aside and bowing as the magister passed them. Down a long, straight corridor, through a narrow bottle-necked set of turns, they came to another pair of iron gates. These ones had long, wicked-looking spikes facing inward towards a dimly lit larger room lined with heavy doors. It was eerily quiet, but for the clinking of the worn key in the padlock and the gates' heavy, ponderous swing on well- oiled hinges.

A few more of the magister's men set about lighting the torches, as well as lowering the grim looking chandelier that appeared as if it had been welded together from leftover spikes and iron bars. Varania stopped dead in her tracks as the growing light revealed the apparati of the room.  
Clever, cruel implements of torture were spread out about the place, ranging from racks and iron maidens to vivisection tables. Arranged tidily upon the walls were innumerable instruments of torture, both sharp and blunt that Varania could not identify. The black stone floor was polished to a smooth glassy finish and sloped towards the center, with cut channels and grooves from beneath the various devices leading to a large shallow pool ringed with glyphs. Blood filled the pool, looking like an ornamental pond amongst the rock and metal garden of blades, ropes and beams the magister had so carefully cultivated.

There was a disturbing aesthetic about the whole room. Varania shifted from one foot to the other uneasily. There were places in Tevinter, squares made for public execution, that were once the sites of mass blood sacrifices. A lingering sense of disquiet clung to those places, as if the air itself was stained with the pall of death. The same quiet filled the depths of Danarius's mansion.

"Are you afraid, apprentice?" Danarius inquired.

Varania paused, and then nodded, "Yes, Magister."

"Either you're honest or you're sensible enough not to deny something when there's ample evidence to the contrary. You think as a slave still, my dear apprentice, and while your slave training has no doubt served you well, you must discard those traits and learn what it means to control others." He stepped closer to a table and motioned to his men to bring forth the limp figure held up between them.

_Learn what it means to control others._

"You must think of yourself as a magister, one of the Imperium's elite, and conduct yourself as befits one of the most powerful people in the world."

_Think of yourself as a magister._

The young man had begun to stir groggily as the guards bound him to the table with leather straps and manacles. His eyes widened when he took in the surroundings, and expanded into a look of sheer terror at the sight of the magister. Danarius turned to Varania with a wry smile.

"Here is your first test. Meet this quivering excuse of a slave. He was a citizen up until a fortnight ago when he and his cohorts decided to try and steal from me," Danarius gave a little huff of a laugh, "and he is unwilling to give up the names and locations of his fellow compatriots. Now, I could just force him to tell me..." Danarius held up a hand, and one of his men brought forth a small cart of trays. The topmost tray was covered in small surgical tools and two little bowls, one full to the brim with blood, the other with processed lyrium. Danarius circled his fingers over the blood, which swirled up towards his hand slowly, sloshing back and forth, in the form of a beating heart.

"And it would take remarkably little effort on my part. However..." He relaxed his fingers, and the the blood slowly trickled back down into the bowl. "Our peers enjoy a good hunt, so there's no rush to extract the information right away. Letting the fugitives think they've escaped the law makes it so much more satisfying to grind their false little hopes into dust beneath the weight of reality," Danarius chuckled deeply.

_This slave has wronged the magister. He continues to resist. He will be made to suffer._

Varania felt her face smile in agreement with the magister. It was something she was quickly becoming accustomed to doing.

"So, I thought I'd save this one, to let him sweat a while longer. He'll make a good practice target for you to learn how to act the part of a magister, so do try not to kill him too quickly. Although," Danarius shrugged offhandedly, "he is easily replaced once you tire of his constant pleas." He turned away and called back over his shoulder. "Extract the information using any means necessary. Or unnecessary." He laughed as he walked away.

The world had taken on a simplistic clarity as Varania watched Danarius leave. She looked at the man on the table for a moment, and reflect on the magister's words.

_Danarius wants information. He wants this slave to know pain._

"Please...don't hurt me, I don't know anything," the man groveled.

A malicious kind of glee Varania had never felt before seized upon her.

_He will suffer._

Varania glanced over the topmost tray and watched as the torch light danced across the surface of a scalpel. Her hands tightened in revulsion at the thought of cutting the man open like the cadavers she'd seen in the Circle's healing classes. The memory of formaldehyde made her nose wrinkle in disgust. But that strange sensation of malice hovered in her thoughts and urged her on.

_What would a magister do?_ She wondered.

She lifted the bowl of lyrium to watch the orange light dance across the glittering blue liquid. A droplet sloshed out and landed on her hand as she replaced it. When the lyrium touched her, her magic's pulse sped up and thrummed beneath her skin. She blinked as an idea clicked into place. The silent man on the table was watching her.

_Could I do that to this man?_ She asked herself silently.

_What will happen to me if I don't?_

_What will happen to Leto?_

_I don't CARE,_ the bloodthirsty voice in her head hissed, _This is here. This is now. Do it. Make him scream. You're a magister now. Caring is just a way the weak try to cling to those who are stronger, to keep them back. I'm better than them. Let's show how strong we are. This wretch is just a body-to-be. He is no one. He is nothing. He exists at our pleasure and dies on our whim._

For a moment Varania felt giddy with the feeling of complete power over the man who lay helplessly before her. Suddenly, a chill settled into her stomach, like the touch of steel on flesh.

_What's wrong with me?_

The worry was smoothed away, leaving a feeling of self-assurance in its place. _I'll think about this later. The magister wants answers. And suffering._

"This might get a bit loud," she said to the attending guard.

He bowed in acknowledgement.

The man on the table began to struggle. "No, wait, please, what are you—"

Varania raised her hands, and the magic that danced so impatiently beneath her skin lashed out in two twin arcs of purple lightning. It was absolutely intoxicating, like taking a deep lungful of air after only being allowed the shallowest of breaths.

"Scream, worm, I want to hear your pain." She heard the words ring out in what sounded like her voice. But it was cold and imposing; a voice that sounded the way a magister should.

_Yes. This is right. This is how it should be._ The thought slid across her consciousness with a worrying slipperiness.

_I shouldn't be enjoying this. I never enjoyed another's pain._

Memories of times she had seen another person injured flashed through her mind, tinged with the sensation of cringing from the blood and pain. She felt sympathy then.

_Why is it different now?_

However, it felt good to use her magic, after so long. Even when Danarius taught her how to use arcane magic, he never let her cast.

"Wait until the right time," he had said.

The giddiness of finally being allowed to use her magic was followed by a sense of relaxation, like muscles stretched out after a long run. The sensation quickly washed away her feelings of doubt.

_I should learn to stop questioning myself. A magister does not doubt herself. I shouldn't waste my energy on wondering if I'm wrong._ Thoughts swam lazily through her mind and Varania submitted without thinking on it further.

The man was screaming as his body contorted and spasmed beneath the lightning's harsh caress. Before long, he gasped for breath and tried to draw air into his lungs in a futile reflex to continue screaming. She let him struggle for a bit before relenting.

With a ragged voice he pleaded, "Please—I'll tell you anything, just please don't do that again, I swear I don't know—"

_He shows disrespect by speaking out of turn. Wasting my time with words I don't want to hear. He must be taught otherwise._The alien thoughts flowed so easily through her consciousness.

He never got to finish his sentence as the room was lit once more by a crackling violet glow.  
Some time later she turned away from the table to find Danarius seated on a cushioned chair, watching the spectacle.

"No need to tell me the names, I heard them quite clearly," he said as he rose. "Well done, apprentice, well done," he applauded slowly. "I must admit, you behaved quite admirably. Yes, exactly what I'd expect from a future magister. I'm glad to see you're adapting to thinking with your magic. Mmm, very promising," he smiled. "You even left him alive at the end of it. Out of mercy?" He asked.

Where the magister's approval had once inspired fear and disgust, there was only a warm feeling of satisfaction.

_What's wrong with me,_ The thought was quiet and slurred, as if Varania was drunk. A smooth interjection interrupted it._It doesn't matter. Magister Danarius is happy. I made him happy. No slave could do that. I should be proud of my accomplishment. I am proud. I deserve the praise._

The drunken feeling still lingered, and Varania found herself feeling pliable, and allowed herself to agree with the voice that sounded just like her own.

"He is your slave, Magister, I felt it would be wasteful to destroy your property when there might be information to be extracted from it. Let's not mention that he must pay for his past insolence."

Danarius's smile widened in approval.

"I see my lessons are beginning to sink in. Well done, Varania, very well done." He motioned for her to follow him upstairs, remarking casually, "You'll do well in the years to come when we get to the demon summoning lessons. I dare say you might even be able to bind a pride demon. You seem well suited for that kind of power."

* * *

_A/N: Super-duper thanks and praise to Easternviolet for betareading this! _

_Cookies to those who caught the SWTOR reference (or technically a whole scene from the Sith Inquisitor story line. Ideas and whatever else belongs to Bioware and their respective creators, btw)._


	17. The First Time

Varania couldn't bring herself to look at Acippa's expression.

_Will she leave me? Kill me? Would I stop her? _

_Do I care?_

The silence dragged on as the moments passed by.

"Was it really you?" Acippa asked in a small horrified voice. "Was it really you who tortured that man?"

The quiet fear in the other woman's voice made Varania's voice shrivel up within her throat. All she could do was nod.

"Do you still...feel that way? Happy when you hurt someone else?"

Varania hesitated.

_What of the templars? I felt no joy at their pain. Only in the use of my magic._

"No. I...don't think so. I don't think I ever did, before Danarius took me as his apprentice. I...I hope I never did. I hope I don't..."

"What about the templars from earlier?" Acippa asked. The fear seemed to have abated slightly in her eyes.

"No." Varania hovered, wondering if she should leave out how using her magic had felt, or if she should lay everything at Acippa's feet.

_I've already told her of my darkest secrets. What's one secret more? And she's a mage too..._

"I did not feel any thrill in the templars' misfortune." Varania took a quick breath to steady herself, "But I did enjoy the feeling of lighting at my fingertips. It's...It's a feeling like no other. Is it like that, with you?"

Acippa smiled faintly. "I think so. I can't imagine what it must have been like, to have magic swimming in your blood only to be denied it for so long. It's like giving a bird wings and showing it how to fly, only to chain it to a block of stone."

"Letting my magic free does feel a bit like flying, I think," Varania murmured.

"Best feeling in the world, or one of them anyway."

The atmosphere between the two had eased, taking on a companionable feel to it once more.  
Acippa's smile faded, however.

"Was he the only one?"

Varania's smile was not far behind in following Acippa's.

"No. He was the first."

Acippa looked away for a time, before turning back and quietly asking, "Did you ever learn blood magic?"

Varania shook her head. "No...If the magister had retrieved my brother, my lessons were to have begun when we returned to Minrathous." She sighed heavily. "The magister made that abundantly clear, before we left for Kirkwall."

* * *

The sound made Varania's ears curl. Like always, Danarius was sharpening his dagger with slow, steady precision after breakfast. As the whetting stone slid down along the edge, it made a sharp, clear sound, reminiscent of the call of some horrible primeval avian, long lost to the mists of ancestral memory. She had shivered the first several times she heard it, but this time, she steadfastly ignored it and continued her meal.

"Come here," Danarius said without looking up.

A slave approached and knelt, offering up his arm. A second slave knelt next to him, bowl and towels at the ready.

Danarius waited as the second slave carefully cleaned the first's arm, and nodded when he finished to his master's satisfaction. With precision, he cut down along the length of the slave's arm, and wiped his blade clean as blood spilled into the bowl.

"That's enough," he said.

The second slave quickly wrapped a towel around the wound with one hand, and with the other passed the bowl of blood to a third slave waiting nearby.

"To the alchemical lab," Danarius said.

The third slave bowed and exited the room with delicate, measured steps, balancing the bowl of blood in his hands.

Danarius motioned for the first slave to come closer. The slave crept forward, still kneeling while tightly grasping the bloody towel to keep the drips from staining the floor. Lazily, Danarius waved his hand over it. The blood wriggled, the drip trails stood up from the skin like the the legs of an insect. The larger body of blood that had been pooling in the cut slithered deeper into the slave's veins, fitting itself inside. The legs soon followed, catching at the edges of the wound and pulled them closed. The red line sealed and left no hint of a scar. Danarius lightly trailed a finger where the cut had once been, checking for any remaining damage he might have missed. Pleased that there was none, he put his dagger and whetting stone back into their black enamel case, and passed it off to another slave. They bowed, and slipped unobtrusively out of the room.

"I've been meaning to talk to you, Varania."

Varania made eye contact with Magister Danarius, her gaze steady and still.

"There are those who would simply rush through the process, hurrying along in the pursuit of power. But true artistry takes time and dedication, a moment-to-moment focus on the intended outcome. I think this should be special for you, Varania, and I know just the way to do it...your brother..." Danarius's smile curved all the way up to meet his laughing eyes. "...would make the perfect candidate for your first time, wouldn't you agree, my dear?"

Varania's eyes didn't flicker from the Magister's.

"It would lend a certain emotional poignancy to it, wouldn't it, my dear apprentice?"

"As you say, Magister." She briefly wondered when she had ceased to be surprised. The emotional rollercoaster always left her feeling unsettled. When she was with Danarius, it was the easiest thing in the world to do as he asked. But when she was alone, her old doubts and fears would come back. She was becoming two people: the old Varania she had always been, and a new one, the one that Danarius was "helping" her become.

Danarius laughed softly. "My, but we are becoming accustomed to life as a magister, aren't we, Varania? I thought you'd flinch for sure that time. But I am being serious. The power of blood magic is incredibly potent, and the first time you feel that rush of power as you draw blood from the vein is even better than the feeling of letting your magic loose. And in that moment, you'll leave behind the world of the common folk, and take an important step forward to being a magister. Such a moment is best spent with family, don't you think?"

A thrill ran through her. _Why do these ideas that once would have repulsed me feel like they're good ideas? Is it the magister? Is it blood magic?_

Varania secretly thought it was.

_When he lets my mind go, will it be what he wants it to be? Will there be anything left of me?_

A drowsy calmness washed over her, smoothing away the doubt like a swift current over a sandy river bed. _I guess it doesn't matter. It's inevitable. I don't really care anymore anyway. I am his apprentice, and Fenris is his slave. We are his. Irrefutably._

"Fenris would be an excellent choice," she said. Neither she nor Fenris could afford to doubt.

_He would be seen as my weak point. If he has to suffer, I should be the one to hold the whip. Then, at least the lashes would be lighter. I could put end to it, where others would not. I could give him a reprieve. A rest. To make it more bearable._

She thought of her dagger upstairs, sharp enough to split a hair, with the lustrous mirror finish of a brand new blade. Its first cut would be upon her brother's skin and would taste her brother's blood. Her first foray into blood magic would be done at his expense.

_Death would be kinder for him,_ she thought calmly.

_Too bad for him he wasn't born a mage._

_When did I become so callous?_

_What's it matter..._

"Hmm," Danarius frowned as he watched the flicker of emotions dart across her face, "still more work to be done, Varania. He still matters too much to you. Others will not be so gentle as I, should you not manage to shake off your affection for him. He is not Leto anymore, Varania. He is a slave named Fenris, and he is my property."

_If only he had run. If only he had kept running, and never looked back. _

_But he waited for me._

And Varania began to hate the man who had been her brother, just a bit.

* * *

_A/N: Many thanks to Easternviolet for betareading!_


	18. Ordinary People

Acippa swallowed, her throat now very dry. "That Danarius is a sick man," she said.

"He wasn't the only one. All of Tevinter is like that, to some degree."

"And people willingly live there?" Acippa's voice was filled to the brim with disbelief.

"It's all they know. All I knew. I...didn't think I had any better options."

_And I still don't._

The other woman suddenly sat up.

"Was it blood magic or a demon that was messing with your head when you were with the magister?" Acippa asked.

"I...it could have been. I don't know how to prove it, one way or the other." The uncertainty that arose from that one question had Varania twisting her hands in anxiety.

_If it was a demon, maybe that means I'm not a monster—no. It doesn't matter if it was blood magic or a demon persuading me. I still chose to do it. And I cannot undo it._

Varania bowed her head. "I'm still responsible for what I did, Acippa. I...don't know what to do about it. It is done. I don't think there's anything I can do about it." The guilt gathered like dark stagnant pools in the recesses of Varania's mind, tainting her thoughts with their gloom.

"That's true," Acippa conceded, "you can't change the past. But you can still change the future. You helped us get Ellegra back. There was nothing in it for you. And you told me all of this, and you didn't have to do that either. I don't think you're a bad person, Varania."

"I've done absolutely horrible things, and you say I'm not a bad person?"

_Is she so naive?_

"Good people do bad things," Acippa shrugged, "You don't have to be good all the time. And doing a bad thing doesn't make you irrevocably evil. If you get up, dust yourself off, and try to do better the next time, what more can a person ask for?"

_There is wisdom in what she says...but I've done such horrible things...can I be forgiven?_

_But...Acippa has forgiven me,_ a small voice said, _surely I can find it in me to forgive myself as well._

"There is...more, that I have yet to tell you. My...brother."

"Your brother?"

"I betrayed my brother. Not only when I agreed to help Danarius recapture him. I betrayed him when we met for the last time as well."

* * *

There was a crunch and crack of bone and a wet squelch of blood and tissue. She knew them all too well. Varania watched blankly as Danarius fell as limply as a rag doll upon the floor. His death was as ordinary as a common man's. A part of her giggled hysterically inside. He was dead, just like that. He couldn't hurt anyone anymore. The elf standing over him turned to her. Varania almost felt happy that he did. There was a mix of anguish, a wish she could go quietly, but she could not stifle the words that fell from her mouth:

"I had no choice, Leto." She hadn't meant to say that. He wasn't Leto.

"Stop calling me that!"

"He was going to make me his apprentice. I would have been a magister." She didn't understand why she tried to explain herself to him. He'd only seen the life of a magister from the view of a slave.

"You sold out your own brother to become a magister?"

Anger flared inside her heart. The hands she had held up in a placating gesture fell as her unbidden memories rose. "You have no idea what we went through. What I've had to do since mother died. This was my only chance!"

"And now you have no chance at all." His hands glowed blue as he stepped towards her.

Varania could not help but smile despairingly in her mind at the cruel irony of fate.

_Would death be so bad?_

She had lost everything. She grieved for a brother that had died upon the arena sands so long ago and for the memory of a lifetime long since dead.

_Life could be better. I could be better. I don't want to die._

_Why?_

_I don't know._

_I just don't want to die._

"Please don't do this." She raised her hands once more to ward him off. He looked just like him, but Fenris wasn't Leto. The urge to lash out with her magic swelled up within her. She almost did on reflex, but she held herself in check.

_I've hurt people. Killed them. I don't want Leto to be just another body on that list._

_Even if it costs me my life?_

She turned to the human who stood watching, "Please tell him to stop!"

"Wait, don't kill her."

A detached part of her observed the scene passively.

That a stranger would offer her mercy when her own blood would not.

_Do I deserve it, after all that I've done?_

She hadn't even dreamed of Danarius dying in this confrontation with Leto. Fenris. But she had stood aside when the blades had been drawn, and she had hoped, faintly, even as her hopelessness told her that this struggle was futile. It was almost an action of spiteful rebellion, to simply stand aside, to withhold aid to the magister as he knelt upon the floor in his final moments.

A thought crossed her mind, leaving troubled waters in its wake. _If I had helped my brother, would Leto have forgiven me? Would Fenris?_

"Why not? She was ready to see me killed. What is she to me other than one more tool of the magisters?"

That stung. Leto had given everything he had for her and mother. Varania's shoulders slumped slightly. The fact that Leto was dead was something she had known, but hadn't truly understood, until now.

"This is your family, Fenris."

_Not anymore. Bonds of blood dissolved by blood. There was nothing left after the arena. Nothing for either of us. Both of our hands, stained so red. Strange how we're alike, both of us murderers by trade now. Like brother like sister?_

The dwarf with the crossbow upon his back spoke up. "Elf. Fenris, I know how hard this is to believe, but this is the last thing you want to do."

Silence weighed heavily as the next few moments ticked by.

"Get out," Fenris said.

Her heart broke just a little more. As she ran towards the door, she paused, and turned to face him one last time.

"You said you didn't ask for this,"_ for all of this, for everything that's happened since,_ "but that's not true."

He didn't turn to face her, staring at the wall.

"You wanted it. You competed for it. When you won you used the boon to have mother and I freed."

_I lost him that day. I lost Leto. Neither of us were the people we were expecting to see,_ she thought bitterly.

He turned then, anguish upon his face. "Why are you telling me this?"

_Because you cost me everything. My brother, my mother, my lover, my home. You have freedom. You have friends. You have love._

Varania held her tongue and kept her anger locked up inside, for the sake of the ghosts that still haunted her. She stayed silent for the shades of a family she had once had.

"Freedom was no boon. I look on you now and I think you received the better end of the bargain."

_Goodbye Fenris. Goodbye, Leto._

* * *

_A/N: Thanks to Easternviolet for betareading! _

_And now the past is all caught up to the present._


	19. Tomorrow

Varania finished her tale. Acippa sat silently and starring at the far wall.

_Will Acippa would turn away now?_

Varania jumped slightly when an arm slid around her and hugged her tightly.

"I'm sorry," Acippa said. "For everything that's happened to you."

Varania didn't know how to answer. She held on tightly to the other woman's arms. It was so strange to feel so vulnerable, and yet have someone turn right around and help her, instead of hurting her. She hadn't felt this way since her mother died.

_Not since Almerric..._

A soft sob escaped from Varania's lips and she began to cry. Acippa held her, letting Varania lean upon her shoulder as she stroked the crying woman's hair.

Acippa gave her arm a gentle squeeze, "It's not your fault," she said, "you did the best you could, in a horrible situation. I don't know what else someone could do, given the circumstances."

It was some time before the tears ceased, leaving Varania feeling worn and tired.

"We should go," Acippa said, "Do you think you can make the journey back to camp?"

Varania nodded. The troupe had hung back a respectful distance to give the two women some privacy. Now, they regrouped and set out. The journey back was much slower, their pace more sedate, and on the fourth day from when they had set out from the Gathering they arrived, tired but happy have returned. Harlen came out to greet them, trailed hurriedly by the girl's parents and a very tall elf with dark, tanned skin and braids. Varania stood in shock, as a sensation of wild hope and fear crept into her mind.

"Almerric?" she called softly. It looked like him. She wondered if her heart could take any more abuse. Part of her was scared it wasn't him, but just an impostor.

Her doubts scattered like fireflies as the elf in question swept her up in a tight embrace, planting a kiss upon her head, "Varania!" He spoke in that familiar rolling accent. It sounded just like him, "I thought I'd never see you again, when the magisters took you away. I tried to get to you first, when I heard about the arrest. They got the other couriers too. I thought they got you as well."

She remembered the way he had smelled. Like leather, parchment and pine. Now there was the aroma of crushed grass, woodsmoke and rain intermingling about him as well. Familiar, but different. Varania hugged him back as tightly as he held her, wondering if it was a dream, or if she had died back at the Hanged Man, alongside the magister, at the hands of a man she didn't know.

"But...but they said they got you. The courier..."

"It wasn't me that day. One of the boys was supposed to give the letter to you. I was careful then, I thought they were only watching me."

"Is it really you?" her voice cracked quietly on the last word.

"Yes. Is it really you, Rainy?" Almerric asked, tilting her chin up gently to look her in the eye.

"Yes," she said.

"I'm sorry I got you mixed up in that mess. You asked after more work with Aunt Tilda, and since you had hidden the two kids from the guards... She misinterpreted that as a covert offer of aid for the freedom movement. When you found the coded letters stitched in the garments back in your shop,I realized our mistake."

"Whatever happened to those two elves?"

"They were whisked away. Where, I don't know. The different branches of the networks don't talk to each other. I don't even know all of the people in our own neck of the woods who helped out with the underground railroad. Safer that way, if someone gets caught."

He nuzzled her neck before continuing, "Did you know the clans were originally started by runaway slaves?"

"No, I never thought to ask."

"You didn't? Then how did you know to come out here?" Almerric went very still, looking down at her with a serious expression. "Are you here on behalf of the magisters...?"

"No! Maker's breath, no. I...got lost after I fled Kirkwall. Acippa found me in a ruined tower."  
A look of relief and surprise crossed Almerric's face.

"How fortuitous," he said, "if you truly are here by accident, the gods have been merciful." Almerric peered at her in curiosity. "What were you doing in Kirkwall?"

"I...Danarius, a magister brought me there." Varania felt him tense slightly. "He's dead. My brother killed him."

"Your brother? Leto? Or is it Fenris now? Is he here?"

"No, he isn't here. He..." she looked away, " he wanted to kill me too, but his friends talked him out of it. He and I are not bound by blood anymore, if we ever were after I lost him to the arena."

A pallor had been cast over their reunion. Almerric was the first to break the silence.

"At least you know for sure now," he said.

She leaned back to get a good look at Almerric, smiling faintly up at him.

"I suppose."

"Hmm," Almerric hummed, "You know, when I heard from Harlen that a beautiful elf by your description had taken off with to go rescue that little girl, I ended up spending these last four days hoping you'd come back with Gestalt's people alive. Was completely useless the entire time, or so they say. Burned more than one good stew that way. I hoped it was you, and not just someone who happened to bear your name. My hair will turn white before my time if you insist on being an adventurer, Rainy." He spoke the last line so mournfully Varania giggled.

"I'll try not to do that again," she said, patting his cheek, "at least not without saying goodbye first."

"Maker forbid, woman! You'll be the death of me!" He threw an arm across his head in mock despair.

"You would look quite fetching with white locks, Merry."

An uncomfortable cough interrupted them.

The two turned around to look.

Acippa was giggling with Emelia as the the two women looked on. Verdan and Harlen were busy looking at the sky, hands behind their back. The little girl Ellegra and her parents were busy talking amongst themselves, pointedly not looking at the two lovers. There were hints of smiles on the parent's faces, however. Ellegra was hiding her mouth with one hand, her cheeks raised in a poorly hidden grin. Other passersby were drawing near, and a few of the more drunken ones hollered and whistled in approval.

"As glad I am to see two such passionate lovers reunited, you're attracting a crowd," Gestalt said.  
Almerric rolled his eyes, "We both thought the other was dead or worse. What were you expecting?" he turned back to Varania, "alright, since the prude over there gets miffed at the very thought of kissing in public, do you want me to give you the grand tour of the place? Help you get settled in?"

Memories and nightmares flashed through her mind's eye of blood red stains on a dead woman clothed in white and green, a bloodied dirk in hand, and the screams of mercy from a man chained in the depths of a dungeon. The memories loomed in her mind as reminders of the deaths that stained her hands. She hesitated.

"Are you sure? That I can stay here? With you? The things I've done..."

"Varania."

She looked up.

Almerric had a serious expression upon his face, as he spoke clearly and softly. "I wouldn't have fallen in love with a woman who was anything like the magisters. You are a good person. I know it. I've seen it. I see it still, in your eyes. That you doubt yourself is a sign that you have a conscience—something the magisters lack." He bent closer, touching her forehead with his own.

"My brother was a mage," he confided.

Varania stared up at him in shock.

"They took him when we were both children. I met him once, years later, when I was free. He looked just like me, but I didn't recognize him at all. He wasn't the boy I'd known. They'd killed that person, slowly, by inches. Made him into someone else. A magister, proud and cruel. They would've gotten you too, eventually. Harlen had to talk me out of some really dark places when I was thinking about how they'd do that to you as well. Are you still my Varania, love? Or is it too late for you? For us...?"

His face was blank with uncertainty.

_Am I still Varania?_

_I've changed. _

_But I'm Varania. _

_Not a magister._

_Still me._

"Do you desire Uthenera?" He asked.

Too many souls had asked for a merciful death, when the horrors they had survived became too much for them to bear. He prayed she wasn't one of them. But he wouldn't deny her it if she asked.

_Can I go on? He offers me death, if I desire my final rest._

_I can do this. _  
_I can live._  
_I want to live._

_It'll be hard. But that's okay. It'll be better. With him here, by my side, it'll be easier. I could live here, with him._

Almerric watched the struggle of emotions play out in his lover. When she looked up at him with the spark of hope in her eyes, he relaxed and let out the breath he had been holding. He then slipped the dagger he had held poised behind her in one hand back into its sheath up his sleeve. Had she been too far gone or too broken to continue her life, he would have followed soon after her.

"You're staying?" He was tentatively hopeful.

Varania smiled and nodded, "I want to stay here, with you."

The breath was knocked out of her as he swept her up in a crushing hug.

"NeedtobreathetoliveAlmerric! Don'twannadienow!"

Laughing, he put her down.

After catching her breath, Varania smiled and she leaned in, motioning Almerric to bend down  
slightly to hear her. Instead of speaking, she gave him a gentle kiss on the lips, hidden from the group behind her hand. "Love you," he said quietly as she pulled back.

"Love you too."

* * *

_Fin._

_A/N: Super-duper big pile of thanks to Easternviolet for betaing all of Rain Dance! :D_

_And we're done! The ending seems much lighter than the rest of the tale considering what's happened, but I like to think it can get better, even when someone's been through a ton of shit. It won't be all sunshine and roses for them, but they'll figure out a way. Thanks for reading!_


End file.
